


Hazy Through the Smoke

by Black_Rose_117



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century
Genre: Hazy Through the Smoke, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-19
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2017-11-26 02:47:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 53,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/645700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Rose_117/pseuds/Black_Rose_117
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>True love is something that only comes around once in a life time, and although it may have a rough beginning, things do get better. Then, it's the matter of the relationship it's self. </p><p>Now that Lestrade and Mycroft have figured out their feelings for each other and got over their challenges in their relationship, a new challenge has thrown its self into the pair's path. A challenge that may have the two separated forever, with no chance of returning back to their normal lives. </p><p>But true love means staying at each others sides no matter what - good or bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to SherlockedGinger for the beta

"If you and your team weren't so incapable of every simple task that was thrown at you, maybe I wouldn't need to come around as often," Sherlock scolded, his nose in the air as he glanced down the bridge of his nose at Lestrade, sending a glare at Anderson as well. Anderson was staring on the argument with a raised eyebrow and his face that just screamed "baffled." "So if you're done interrupting me, I need _you_ to turn your back." Sherlock snapped, turning his attention over to Anderson.

"Me?! Why?!" Anderson asked, snapping to life as Sherlock turned to him.

"Because your imbecilic thoughts are distracting me!" Sherlock replied, getting ready to shoot a round of insults at the man before he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Sherlock, let's go," John muttered into the detective's ear, his breath ghosting over Sherlock's neck. "He'll give you the report later, Greg."

"Okay, be in my office Monday at ten, then," Lestrade said, making sure to send Sherlock a look that told him he didn’t have a choice, the detective huffing and crossing his arms. 

With a nod to ensure the DI they would be there, John half steered and half dragged the pouting detective away from the scene. He hailed a cab that was passing by, surprised it stopped, and basically pushed the sulking man into the car. “Baker Street,” John said calmly to the cabbie before sitting back next to Sherlock, who had begun to try to escape through the other door. “Stop that,” John scolded, pulling Sherlock’s hands into his lap and holding them there. “You’re not leaving, we’re going home, and you’re going to relax with a nice hot cup of tea, you understand me?”

“But that’s so _boring_ , John!” Sherlock huffed, taking his hands from John and crossing his arms over his chest. He turned to the window and watched with a pout as the buildings went by outside. “Besides, Lestrade’s team _needs_ me. They-“

“Are perfectly capable men who do this for a living. They can work it out on their own, Sherlock,” John cut him off, his tone set in stone. “Well, perfectly capable men and Anderson, anyway.”

That emitted, at least, a small snort from Sherlock before his features and body language went back to a mix of an unreadable emotion and a sulk. John smirked at the detective and turned to look out his own window. Sometimes this man could be such a big child, but John knew he could always win in the end when it came to things such as making Sherlock finally give up and give his body a much needed break. The ride was silent until they pulled up to 221B; John quickly paid the cabbie before having to rush after Sherlock as he pulled the door open.

“So, do you want that tea?” John asked as Sherlock flopped himself down and stretched across the length of the couch. He moved into the kitchen and started messing with the kettle, sparing a glance at the sink and pile of undone dishes and grimacing. 

“Yes, that would be nice,” Sherlock said, his voice far off as, John guessed, he retreated to his Mind Palace. “Two sugars, splash of milk.”

“I know how you like it,” chuckled John as he distributed the tea into two different cups and started adding the sugar and milk to each. He placed the cups on a tray and placed a plate in between the two cups, figuring he’d place out some biscuits to go with them, just as a little treat for the two of them after a long day. 

He carried the full tray out into the living room and Sherlock glanced at him, pealing his eyes off the place on the ceiling he’d been staring. He raised an eyebrow when he saw the biscuits and lowered his hands, sitting up slowly. “Why did you-“

“Thought you may want something sweet,” John shrugged, setting the tray on the coffee table and taking the now free spot next to Sherlock on the couch. He took his mug and a biscuit, biting into the sweet and letting his eyes close as the chocolate coated his palate. 

Sherlock took his own mug and, after a hesitation, a biscuit. He bit into the biscuit and hummed quietly as if in a thank you for John. They sat and ate their way through the plate in silence, the two of them leaning back till they were both leaning against the arms of the couch, staring at each other and enjoying the quiet company.

When finished, they set their mugs down on the tray and just sat there, looking towards each other with their feet just barely brushing. John loved the times they could just sit in the quiet together like this; Sherlock walking through his mind palace and solving whatever issues he came up with in there while John himself worked on his blog or just searched the internet. Something about the peaceful quiet that fell over the flat seemed calmer then if they were in separate rooms.

Something about the closeness to Sherlock just seemed right.

\----------

Lestrade sighed heavily as he let the door swing shut behind him, shrugging off his coat and hanging it on the hanger just inside the flat. Any day dealing with the annoying prick was a tiring one, and Lestrade seemed to be dragging the detective out more and more as the days ticked by. 

“I’m home,” he called over his shoulder as he made his way into the kitchen. “Jaclyn?”

Jaclyn made her way down the stairs and into the kitchen, she let a small smile cross her lips for a brief second – obviously forced – before she leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Hello, Greg. Work okay?”

“Nothing abnormal,” Greg sighed, returning the peck. “Dealt with Sherlock today, have to meet him again tomorrow at ten. Was insulted, screamed at, and then left with Anderson and the team to finish up the scene; so not only did I have to deal with Sherlock, the annoying consulting _prick_ , but also Anderson, the Brainless Wonder.”

“I’ll never understand your reasoning for keeping that man around,” Jaclyn huffed, going over to the stove to make tea, placing the kettle on. “I mean, you always complain that he’s no use to the team; why keep him?”

“I don’t know,” the DI sighed, shaking his head and going through the mail that was addressed to him. “Bill, bill, bill, bill, bill, _damn it_!” He threw the bills across the table with a flop and fell into a seat. “How do we keep getting all these bills?! How are we going to pay for them all?”

“I don’t know,” Jaclyn sighed. “But I’m going to add another one on to you.”

“What..?” Lestrade looked up, his heart picking up in pace as he looked up at his wife. “W-what do you mean?”

“Listen, Gregory, there’s no easy way to say this,” Jaclyn muttered, taking the seat across from Lestrade and playing with the hot mug of tea that sat in her hands. “I think it’s best if we get a divorce.”

“A-a divorce?” Lestrade stuttered, leaning back in his chair and dropping his head back to look at the ceiling. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, I’m sorry Gregory, but it’s just not working out,” Jaclyn said, taking Lestrade’s hand. “I never see you anymore with your work and it’s just… not a happy life for me. I think it’s best if we just end it instead of putting ourselves through this hell.”

“It’s always the bloody job,” Lestrade growled, pulling his hand away from his wife’s and standing. “I’m going out.”

“Where are you going?” Jaclyn asked, slight anger leaking into her tone as Lestrade shrugged his jacket back on, pocketing his wallet and keys. 

“Out.” The door snapped loudly behind Lestrade as he moved swiftly out to his car, yanked the door open, dropped himself into the seat and started up the car. He pulled out of the driveway and started down the street, anger coursing through him.

\----------

Lestrade signaled for another pint as he pushed his second glass away from him. Depression had taken a firm hold of him completely by this point and he drank slowly, letting the beer wash away the pain with each swallow.

“Detective Inspector?” A posh, calm and firm voice asked from behind Lestrade, who turned his head slowly to look over his shoulder. 

“Mr. Holmes,” Lestrade greeted, forcing a smile on his face over his shoulder. He turned back to the counter and nodded as his third pint was placed in front of him. He picked it up and took a long drink from the golden liquid, letting the bitter taste numb his mouth. 

“May I join you?” Mycroft asked. Lestrade motioned to the seat next to him with a wave of his hand, placing his drink down heavily. Mycroft ordered his favorite pousse-café – lime juice, ameretto, peppermint schnapps, and tequila – before turning to the DI. “Is something bothering you, Inspector?” He asked calmly. 

Lestrade sighed heavily and took another drink from his beer before he decided talking may be a good thing right now. “I’m going through another divorce,” he muttered, half into his glass. “Jaclyn just broke the news to me an hour ago; I’ve been here ever since.” 

“I see,” Mycroft nodded, his voice wavering into an uncomfortable tone before he corrected himself and turned it back to that emotionless demanding tone he always bore. “And… did she say why?”

“My bloody job,” Lestrade growled through his teeth.

“But, you do great work, Grego-“

“No! It’s because my bloody job gets in the way of every-fucking-thing!” Lestrade snapped, pounding his fist on the table and catching the attention of a few bar-goers around them. “Third time! _Third time_ this has happened because of my job and my ungodly fucking hours, and not being home enough, and Sherlock- God, that fucking Sherlock Holmes! He just drives me so far up the fucking wall that I just- Arg!” Lestrade dropped his face into his hands as tears took him over for the first time. He sobbed heavily into his hands before continuing. “He thinks he knows every-fucking-thing about _everybody_. Coming in and insulting me; insulting my _men_. I understand Anderson, sure, but I just can’t… Fuck Sherlock Holmes! Fuck him, fuck John, and fuck his fucking brother! They can’t keep their noses out of where they don’t fucking belong!” 

Lestrade fell silent and noticed the seat next to him had as well. Then he remembered who he was talking to, Mycroft Holmes, the man he had just told to fuck off. He looked up at the elder Holmes, who was scowling at the DI. 

“I see,” Mycroft growled before standing and storming off to the door, his posture straight and well held together as he left. Lestrade instantly regretted everything and dropped his face back into his hands. Mycroft was only trying to help and he had insulted his brother _and_ the Government agent in one row. Today really was just a shitty day.

\----------

Lestrade sat in his new, small flat on the couch sorting through his mail, or, at least, his bills. It had been a month since the divorce was proposed and since he had insulted Mycroft Holmes in front of the man himself. Lestrade threw his bills across the table and fell back onto the couch; his life had been falling to shit ever since that day. He hadn’t seen or heard from Sherlock since the bar with his brother, having been out of work since the divorce had started and missing his ten ‘o’clock appointment with him and the doctor – who he had also insulted that day. He doubted the men would ever come to the Yard to help out again, if Mycroft had told them what Lestrade had said, which he was sure he did. 

Maybe he should apologize to Mycroft, he felt like he should at least try to make up with the man. He pulled his phone from his pocket and quickly found Mycroft’s number in his contacts and opened a new message to him. 

_Hey, are you busy at about five tonight? –GL_

_Yes. –MH_

_When aren’t you busy? –GL_

_Why? –MH_

_I think we need to talk. –GL_

_There’s nothing to talk about. –MH_

_I think there is. I know there is. Please. –GL_

_Seven. Bar. Bye. –MH_

_See you there. –GL_

Seven ‘o’ clock rolled around fairly quickly. About half an hour till, Lestrade had showered, dressed in his nice white button-up, black jacket, and gray pants, and left his flat, heading out towards the bar. He drove there in fifteen minutes and found a booth just as the clock hit seven. He ordered two Pousse-cafés, remembering how Mycroft had liked his, and waited with the drinks in front of him, not touching his. 

Seven thirty rolled around and Lestrade was still sitting alone, playing with the rim of his drink and watching as the drinks grew warm quickly under his gaze.

When eight ‘o’ clock hit, Lestrade had given up hope and started to think about leaving. _Maybe he stood me up,_ Lestrade mused to himself. _Just like everyone else._ Of course, this wasn’t a date, but still. It hurt non-the-less.

Pushing his drink away, Lestrade gathered his jacket in his hand – having had discarded it on the table about half way through his wait – and began to slide out of the booth. 

“Leaving already?” 

Turning to face the voice, Lestrade stopped when he saw Mycroft walking over to him, his umbrella missing and a perfectly tailored suit hugging his slightly plumper form. “I thought you…well, I figured-“

“I’m sorry I’m late. Work kept me over. “World War Three on the horizon,” normal stuff; really tedious and boring,” Mycroft waved it off and sat down across from the DI, who had moved back into the booth. “Anyway, I figure it’s important if you called me here, considering last time you basically told me us Holmes’, and I quote, “can’t keep their noses out of where they don’t fucking belong.” So what is it, Detective Inspector?”

Lestrade pushed away the fact that the Government agent basically just waved off “World War Three” into the unimportant category and shook his head back to what was here, now and in front of him. “Well, about that, actually-“

“Oh? Are you going to add on?” Mycroft said with fake interest, leaning forward on the table. “Please, do tell. I ever so enjoy when people call me a nosy idiot and-“

“Would you just shut up and let me explain!” Lestrade snapped, his heart rate picking up and a slight tremor coursing through his body. He avoided Mycroft’s eyes as the other man fell quiet. “Listen, Mr. Holmes, I-I’m sorry about all I said about you, and your brother, and John. Everything I said was… completely out of line. I was tired, and pissed off, and depressed, and it just all piled up on me until I blurted out things I didn’t even mean. My wife had just finished telling me she was leaving me because I couldn’t give her enough attention due to my ungodly hours. I was heartbroken – am heartbroken. Still, that didn’t make anything I said right.” He sighed and glanced at Mycroft, the man’s face unreadable before he dropped his gaze to the table between them and continued. “I’m sorry for everything. I want to get back to working with Sherlock on cases and I want to be able to face you without this… this tension between us, for when the time calls that I need to consult with you. If I could, I would take back everything I said that day, but since I can’t, I can only hope you forgive me… at least to a business-like level.”

“What other level is there, Gregory?” Mycroft asked, his voice and face emotionless.

“Well, I mean, friends… but I doubt you want to be my friend after all of this,” Lestrade chuckled dryly, rubbing at the back of his neck. 

“Gregory, I understand the situation you were in that day and I forgive you for everything you said. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before; about myself or about Sherlock,” Mycroft shook his head lightly at those words. “I would like to try to be friends; I believe it may be good for us to have someone that isn’t… business related or sexually attracted.”

“I agree,” Lestrade nodded. A silence fell over them and the two men stared at their drinks, unsure of what to say next. Mycroft ordered them fresh drinks – seeing the others went warm – and the two of them sat there sipping at their alcohol. The rest of the night went by smoothly, Mycroft eventually yawning and saying he needed to head home to be ready for a long day at the office the next day. Lestrade sat at the table for a while longer, finishing his drink and letting the past few weeks wash away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a friendship can help you through anything

_It’s official. I’m a free man once again. –GL_

Lestrade didn’t know who else to text. At first, he thought maybe it was best just to sit in his flat alone and let the grief devour him from the inside out, not tell anyone that the papers had been signed and that his wife was, at last, free of him. After about half an hour of sitting alone, he felt like he had to tell the elder Holmes, just to get it off his chest if for nothing else. He didn’t know what he was expecting to happen, but he wasn’t expecting the response Mycroft had sent back.

_Congratulations. Shall we have dinner? –MH_

Congratulations? Not at all, not for Lestrade. He was depressed and alone yet again, how was that worth any sort of congratulations? 

_What time? –GL_

_I’ll pick you up at eight tonight, if that’s okay? –MH_

_See you then. –GL_

If Lestrade was honest with himself, he had no intention of going out tonight. The depression was overwhelming, his tears stained face was blotched with red, and he felt like he was just a mess in general, certainly in no condition to go out with the most powerful man in London. But once everything boiled down to the bones, maybe a nice night out with a good friend would be just what the DI needed after all. Surely Mycroft would understand his condition, if not from a personal level then at least from an “I’ll-try-to-reason-with-you-and-do-the-best-I-can-to-help” kind of friendship level. Mycroft was a good person, Lestrade was sure he could help a little. 

They had been working on the friendship thing for around three months now; going to dinner just to hang out and talk, meeting at the bar to drink away problems, little things that the two men just found relaxing and fun. It was dawning on Lestrade just how relaxed he felt around Mycroft in general, ever since they started hanging out more the tension between the two of them shrank till there was just a friendly, healthy relationship. 

Lestrade sat around his flat, his telly on but his mind not focusing on the crap show that was playing, more for background noise then anything. The last thing Lestrade wanted to be doing right now was sitting in a quiet flat, it would only remind him of the low lonely depression that had its ugly fingers wrapped tightly around Lestrade’s heart. The DI had his watery eyes glued to the screen, tears running down his cheeks and his face swelling to leave red blotchy trails in their wake. Nothing the telly said sunk into his grief-numbed brain until a doorbell brought him back to reality. Confused on who could possibly at his door, the DI stood – not bothering to turn down the overly loud volume on the telly – and went for the door, pulling it open to reveal Mycroft Holmes, standing on the threshold with his trusty umbrella gripped lightly in his left hand. The smile that was touching Mr. Holmes’ features quickly vanished as he cocked his head to the side. 

“Detective Inspector?” Mycroft asked slowly, the new wave of tears rolling down Lestrade’s cheeks. 

“I-I’m sorry, Mr. Holmes. Is it eight already? I-I must have lost track of time. Let me just go, uh, get ready and… um-“

“No, forget dinner. We will stay here and I will cook something for the two of us. You are obviously taking the divorce very hard. Please, allow me to assist you,” Mycroft said gently, wrapping an arm around the DI’s shoulders and driving him to the couch, shutting the door behind him.

“Mr. Holmes… You don’t have to-“

“I want to, Gregory.”

Mycroft’s voice told Lestrade there was no room for argument, so he obliged to sitting on the couch and falling silent. He nodded shortly at the Government Agent and tried his best to give his friend a smile, which he failed at.

Badly.

“I shall make us some tea, that always helps,” Mycroft said, placing a light hand on Lestrade’s shoulder and setting his umbrella against the crap-excuse of a coffee table that sat adjacent to the couch. “May I use your kitchen?”

“Course,” was all Lestrade could force out, his voice breaking badly as new memories took him over and forced their way into his already dying heart. 

Mycroft gave Lestrade’s shoulder a light squeeze and headed off into the kitchen. Lestrade could hear him rustling through the drawers, set to the task of making the tea. As the smell of the tea filled the flat, Lestrade’s mind raced through all the unfinished plans he and his now-ex-wife had. The kids they had planned for once things settled down. They wanted two of them, one boy, and one girl. They had names to choose from, a list, really. They thought they were going to choose one name per gender, but in the end decided to see what the child looked like – they didn’t want to give their child a name they had settled on only to have it not match who they were or what they looked like. It all made sense then, and Lestrade wished it could all make sense now. They had planned to move later in life; not to another town, just to another part of town. Somewhere along the edge, so the kids could have both the experience in growing up in the country, as well as the big city. They were going to visit the city of London, where everything was different from the London that surrounded it. It was going to be a great life; two beautiful children, a beautiful house, a good set of jobs with a good amount of pay…

Now it all seemed like a stupid dream…

A stupid, unattainable dream…

Mycroft rejoined the living room with a tray of tea, along with sugar and milk to accompany the beverages. As he entered the room, he found the DI in the fetal position on the couch, balling his eyes out into a pillow which he was hugging to his chest. A tug on Mycroft’s heart strings pained him as he moved farther into the room, set the tray on the table, and sat down by Lestrade’s feet. One hand went up to rub the DI’s calf in, what Mycroft hoped, was a comforting manner. 

“Detective Inspector?” Mycroft asked slowly, his heart being pulled at again when he heard a sob be pulled from Lestrade throat. “Please, sit up… You should drink your drink… It will help.”

Lestrade turned his swollen eyes to Mycroft and hesitated before sitting up slowly. He used the sleeve of the old jacket he was wearing to wipe at the tears pooling in his eyes. He nodded slowly and sniffled. 

“What do you take in your tea, Detective Inspector?” Mycroft asked, removing his hand from the DI’s knee. 

“T-two sugars… splash of milk,” Lestrade whimpered, watching as the Government Agent quickly added the condiments to the drink and sat back up with the cup in his hand, stirring it.

“Here,” Mycroft soothed, handing Lestrade the cup and giving him a sad smile. “Drink up. I’m going to go get you some tissues, you need them.”

Lestrade sipped at the piping hot drink as Mycroft stood and went back towards the kitchen, coming back a few minutes later with a box of tissues, one in his hand. He sat down and handed the tissue to Lestrade, who took it gratefully. He wiped his eyes and balled up the tissue, setting it on the tray away from Mycroft’s drink, which he was fixing up for himself. 

“T-thank you…” Lestrade muttered into his cup that now sat in his lap, cradled by his hands. 

“For?” Mycroft inquired.

“Just… being here for me. I’m… thankful I’m not alone right now. It’s been hard, at best,” Lestrade said, raising his cup to his lips and taking a long drink. “So… thank you.”

“You are welcome, Gregory,” Mycroft smiled softly at the DI. “I am glad I was able to help. That’s what friends do, is it not?”

Lestrade chuckled softly into his cup, which had taken its spot back in Lestrade’s lap. “Yeah, friends,” he smiled sadly up at Mycroft, who returned it with a little bit of a happier twist of the lips. “Still, you didn’t have to stay, yet you did. So again, thank you.”

Mycroft only nodded and went back to his drink. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Lestrade sipped from his drink as well, the move graceful for the DI. He felt a pull towards the DI that even the brilliant man couldn’t figure out. He couldn’t stop from thinking that everything the man did was elegant and beautiful in its own sense of the word. He felt proud to be sitting here next to the DI, proud that it was _him_ that made the Detective Inspector feel, at least, slightly happier now. Proud that he could say he had helped him in his time of need, when no one else was around.

Proud he could say he had a friend in the man, even if that man was temporarily broken. He would find a way to fix him, he had to.

That’s what friends do.

\-----------

Lestrade woke up the next morning on the couch, a blanket thrown over his shoulders. A small folded note sat on the table in front of him, and he sat up slowly to reach for it. 

_Left late last night after you fell asleep. Kitchen is cleaned for you and I do hope I didn’t lay you down in some awkward position as to have you wake up with a kink in your neck. If I did, my apologies. I’ll come around at about seven-thirty with some food for the two of us, until then, take the day easy._   
_Mycroft Holmes_

Lestrade stared at the note and waited for the words to change into something… not this. Mycroft was coming back here to take care of him again, just to hang out and be a friend to the DI when he needed one the most.

A warmth filled Lestrade’s chest as he placed the note down on the coffee table and stood, going to the kitchen to get himself a cup of coffee. Sure enough, the kitchen was spotless – even cleaner then before Mycroft came. He made the coffee, the warmth in his chest flaring whenever Mycroft’s name crossed his mind. He made himself some breakfast, the weight from the past few months finally feeling as though it had been lifted a bit, leaving the DI to feel the best he has since the first announcement of the divorce. He sat down, the eggs he had scrambled on a plate in front of him, and ate slowly, his mind always finding its way back to the Government Agent. He was startled from his thoughts, however, when his phone beeped in the next room over. He dragged himself from his chair and went to retrieve it. 

_Good morning, Detective Inspector. –MH_

_I take it you got a good night’s sleep? –MH_

_Yes. Thank you, by the way. You really helped last night. And thank you for promising to come back. –GL_

_Of course. Friends wouldn’t leave friends, correct? –MH_

_No, I guess not. How am I going to pay you back for all you’re doing? –GL_

_Trip to the bar? –MH_

Lestrade chuckled as he made his way back into the kitchen, falling into his chair and ignoring the eggs that still sat on the table. _On me and you have yourself a deal, sir. –GL_

_Deal. –MH_

Lestrade realized he was smiling widely the entire time he’d been texting Mycroft but he couldn’t get it off his face. Something about the man was just… intoxicating to Lestrade, and just so much as texting the man made him feel safe inside. What it all meant; Lestrade didn’t know, but he knew he was glad Mycroft Holmes was his friend. 

_I’ll see you tonight. –GL_

_Till then. –MH_

Lestrade pocketed the phone, trying and failing to wipe the smile off his face. He knew he shouldn’t be this happy the day after he had been officially split from his now-ex-wife, but he couldn’t really help it. Something was happening to him, and he just wasn’t ready to face it yet. 

\----------

A loud knock on his door sent Lestrade flying to his feet and quickly heading to the door. He took a moment to make sure he didn’t look… completely sloppy, and pulled the door open to reveal a smirking Mycroft Holmes, his hands wrapped around two large white bags of take out. “Happy to see me, Gregory?” Mycroft smirked, allowing himself in as Lestrade stepped back from the door. “I could hear your footsteps.”

“O-oh,” Lestrade blushed and closed the door behind them. “I mean, yeah, of course I’m happy to see you. It’s just… easier with you here.”

Mycroft set the bags down on the coffee table before he turned to face the slightly pink DI. He let a smile touch his lips and nodded. “I’m glad I could be of assistance. I also brought a few movies, in case you wanted to watch something while we ate. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to just talk, or if you wanted to relax a little bit and get your mind off… _things_.”

“What did you bring?” Lestrade asked, moving over to where the other man had started shifting through one of the smaller bags. 

“I brought a few comedies, as well as a few horrors; I wasn’t sure which you liked,” Mycroft said, holding up the boxes he’d brought. Lestrade picked out of the comedies out of his hands and smiled.

“I think a comedy would do us some good,” Lestrade said, going over to place the DVD in the player. 

“I’m glad you choose that one,” Mycroft said, starting to unload the food. He went into the kitchen and grabbed some utensils, coming back and setting a set on each of the two containers and laying out the side dishes. “It’s one of my personal favorites.”

Lestrade took the remote that controlled the DVR and retreated back to the couch, where Mycroft was sitting and holding out one of the containers to the DI. He took the container and sat down next to Mycroft, watching the screen and waiting for the main menu to appear. They watched the short clips of movies at the beginning, eating their food silently and just enjoying the closeness. That warmth that had shown its self when Lestrade had first read the note from Mycroft was showing its self again while they sat there. Lestrade shifted slightly, crossing one leg under his other on the couch, which allowed the DI’s foot to brush Mycroft’s hip. Mycroft jumped slightly at the brush of skin and turned his head to the DI. 

“Detective Inspector?” he asked, wondering if the man meant to get his attention.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” Lestrade chuckled shifting again so he could move his foot a bit farther away. “And um, please, just call me Greg…”

Mycroft knitted his eyebrows at the DI, who was turning the lightest shade of pink. “Greg?”

“Yeah, it feels weird having a friend who calls me either Detective Inspector or Gregory, it all seems too formal,” Lestrade chuckled nervously, avoiding Mycroft’s gaze. “I hope you don’t mind, Mr. Holmes.”

“I don’t mind, Greg,” Mycroft said, testing the name out. It did feel as though it was more of a friendly level then what they had been on. He let the silence be filled with the commercials before he broke it and said, “And please, if I get to call you Greg, I only find it fair that you refer to me as Mycroft, and not Mr. Holmes.”

“Are you sure you’re okay with that, Mycroft?” Lestrade asked, watching for any reaction on the first name. “I mean, if it’s too much-“

“No, no, Greg, I like it.”

With that reassurance, Lestrade fell into the task of setting the movie up. He pressed the play button and leaned back into the couch, slowly eating his dinner as Mycroft did the same. As the movie played, and the two men laughed along with each other, Lestrade could feel himself relax, the fact that his wife left him didn’t seem that bad now that he thought about it. Maybe it was just a hint towards a new beginning for the DI.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few drinks in the local bar

Mycroft sat behind his desk, Mt. Everest perfectly built in paperwork sat in front of him and, slowly, he was climbing to the top. He knew he should be feeling tired and frustrated, but for once he was happy with all the paperwork. Having to keep his mind focused on the words in front of him at all times meant he couldn’t keep glancing up towards the clock, not being able to always glance at the clock meant he couldn’t be anxious for six to come around, not being able to be anxious meant that six was likely to come around faster, meaning he could go home, get cleaned up, and get ready to go out with Greg to the bar sooner then it felt. 

He finally heard the bells in the distance chime six times, telling him six had finally come around. He dropped his pen on the table with a sigh of relief and stood, stretching and heading to retrieve his jacket. As he got into his car, he told his driver to head home and sat back in his seat, waiting impatiently as his building pulled into view. He got out and started upstairs, set on taking a shower before he did anything else. He locked his front door, deposited his umbrella in the stand next to the door, and headed up to his bathroom. Doubling over the tub, he started working on the facet, waiting until the water ran hot and steamy. Throwing his clothes into the hamper as he went, Mycroft undressed quickly and stepped into the steaming water flow, hissing as the water hit his bare skin. 

His member twitched eagerly as the warmth of the steam surrounded the Government Agent, sending the man into a hazy state of mind. After a while of just enjoying the heat, he glanced down and cursed quietly under his breath. He hated how he was just so easy to turn on, whether it be by a person, or just simple steam in a nice relaxing shower. Knowing he didn’t have much choice – he couldn’t very well show up to Greg’s with this sort of problem – he slowly slid one hand down his chest and to one of his pink-from-heat nipples. He toyed with it slowly, leaning one arm on the tile wall and resting his forehead against it, tweaking it between two fingers and pinching with his nails. The water ran down his chest, slicking his skin, making it easier to drag his nails across his chest and start on the other one, once the first was hard and erect. 

He worked the other one until it mirrored the first before dragging his nails down to his abdomen. He twisted his fingers in the dark hair that surrounded his base before finally allowing his nails to brush his member, admitting a loud, whimpering moan from his lips. He slowly allowed his fingers to brush the base more and more as he turned so his back was on the wall and slid down the tiles to rest on the floor. When he sat on the floor at last, he wrapped his fingers around his base fully, starting to pump slowly and teasingly. His mind raced, trying to find something - _someone_ \- to make him feel this much pleasure. 

As he brought himself closer to the edge, he started adding a small flick of his wrist at the head of his member, making sure that, on the way back down to the base, he brushed his balls with the knuckles of his fingers, each time whimpering to the ceiling, his eyes closed. He was panting, and his mind was working as fast as it could in its state to find someone’s hand who he would have wanted around him. He let his free hand slide down behind him and starts toying with his entrance. He let one slick finger in up to the first knuckle and moaned loudly as he felt himself start to stretch. 

“Mnahh,” he moaned, panting hard and letting his chin fall to his chest, his eyes closed and pretending it was someone else’s hand around him, someone else’s finger stretching him slowly. He slid in another finger and pushed in deeper. “Nahhh!”

His toes curled as he pushed those two fingers as far in as they’d go and he worked himself quickly, his grip tightening to the point where it felt almost painful. He curled his two fingers, brushing his prostate, and felt his orgasm burst from him. His head fell back to the tile.

“Nahh… Nahh! GREG!” he shouted to the ceiling, his hand and fingers stilled in and around him. He worked through his orgasm, panting heavily and enjoying the relief with his mind too hazy to realize what name actually passed his lips. As he finished and released himself, pulling his fingers out, his mind slowly worked back to the point where it was able to tell what just happened. 

“Oh, fuck…” he muttered, dropping his face to his hands. “Did I really just scream Greg’s name?” He sat there, his face in his hands for a few minutes before standing and rinsing himself off.

 _Why did I just scream Greg’s name?_ he thought as he washed himself, the water hitting his calves. _He is just a friend, nothing more… right? No, he can’t be more; he is just my friend, of course. I am just distracted by my later plans of meeting him and my body needed someone to feel close to, that is all that happened, a mix of plans._

Mycroft finished washing up and stepped out of the shower, toweling off and heading back to his bedroom. He pulled on his best suit and tie, stepping up to the mirror to fix the knot. His hands were shaking slightly as he worked, but he soon got it done and swept his eyes along his ensemble, making sure everything looked nice. He hummed in approval and started down towards his car. It was fifteen till seven when he got in his car and told his driver to head to Greg’s, so he was going to be about five minutes late, but he doubted Greg would mind.

\-----------

“Evening, Greg,” Mycroft smiled as Lestrade opened his door to let the Government Agent inside. 

“Hello, Mycroft. How was your day?” Lestrade nodded stepping back to let Mycroft inside. 

“It was fine, thanks. Long; lots of paper work to get done, it’s like a small Mt. Everest,” Mycroft smirked, seeing Lestrade quark an eyebrow up at that. 

“Sounds… annoying,” the DI chuckled. “Well, let’s go to the bar and wash away all those little pests of yours, shall we?” 

“Please,” Mycroft nodded as the DI collected his wallet. They went outside and Lestrade hailed a cab for them, opening the door and scooting in first. Mycroft followed and shut the door behind him. Lestrade read off the address to the bar and sat back next to Mycroft.

They rode in silence, Mycroft stealing glances at the DI so close next to him. He didn’t know what it was, but his heart was speeding up in pace and it seemed like the cab was a little be too warm for comfort. 

“Are you alright, Mycroft?” Lestrade’s voice broke through his thoughts and Mycroft snapped his attention to the DI.

“Yeah, fine, why?” Mycroft muttered, shaking his head slightly to clear the thought and bring his attention back to the DI. 

“Well, if the nervous shifting and twitching isn’t enough, you’re also sweating a bit and shaking; are you sure you’re alright?” Lestrade shifted closer, worry in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry, Greg,” Mycroft said slowly, trying to get his heart rate under control. “I am fine; I do not mean to worry you.”

“If you’re not feeling well-“

“I feel fine,” Mycroft dismissed, trying to force a smirk. 

“Are you sure? We can go back to my place if you need to lay down and-“

“Greg, please, I’m fine,” he smiled at the DI, who tilted his head to the side to study the man. “I promise. If I didn’t, I would tell you.”

Lestrade studied the man next to him for a bit longer before nodding. “As long as you tell me,” he muttered, moving back over to his side of the seat. Mycroft was almost sad that Lestrade moved away, but he knew it was for the best. He didn’t know what was going on with him, but something about Lestrade made him suddenly want to pull the DI close to him and just hold him, blocking out the rest of the world.

When the cab stopped outside the bar, Mycroft got out of the car and waited for Lestrade to follow him. Once he joined him on the sidewalk, the two men started up to the door. Mycroft held the door open for Lestrade as he entered and followed him in, following him up to the bar to order their drinks. Lestrade ordered them two pousse-cafés and told Mycroft to go find a table while he waited on the drinks.

Mycroft found a table off in one of the corners, sitting down and waiting for the DI to join him. He let his eyes roam the room, watching the couples and friend's standing around and talking to each other, or even some dancing to the loud pumping music; Adam Lambert's "Never Close Our Eyes" blasting through the speakers. He smiled when he saw Lestrade push his way through the crowd, his white button up shirt and black trousers making the younger male look very mysterious and, in Mycroft's view, good looking.

“Here you go,” Lestrade smiled as he sat down with Mycroft, handing him one of the two glasses. Mycroft gratefully took the glass and raised it to the DI, holding his gaze as he drank deeply. Lestrade did the same and the two men took to looking around the crowed room. 

“I never did like large crowds,” Mycroft said slowly, sipping his drink and watching drunken couples stumble over each other and themselves. 

“Nor have I,” Lestrade admitted. “But I can’t not come to the bar.”

“I know how that is,” Mycroft said before the two fell silent. Mycroft could still feel his heart beat beating fast as the other man sat across from him, both of them watching other couples and singles dancing. He knew the DI was staring at him before he even looked over; his gaze feeling heavy on his skin. He turned his head and caught the DI’s eyes. “Yes?” he chuckled.

“Oh, um, nothing,” Lestrade chuckled back. “Sorry, was just… zoning out, I guess.”

“No you weren’t,” Mycroft smirked, leaning on the table. “I could tell you weren’t zoning out. Don’t lie to me, Gregory.”

“Shut up, Mycroft,” Lestrade shot though a smile played on his lips. “What do you know?”

Mycroft just shook his head, turning back to the dance floor. He ordered another round of drinks for the two of them then turned back to Lestrade. “This round is on me,” he said as the drinks were placed in front of them. “I can’t make you pay for it all. I can rack up quiet a bill and I know how your, um, finances look at this time…”

Lestrade nodded and sipped from his drink that the bar tender placed in front of him. “Fine, we’ll split the bill. If we end up drinking an odd round of drinks, I’ll pay the bigger half.”

Mycroft chuckled and nodded to that. “Can’t argue with that then,” he smiled before the silence settled back between them.

It was easy just sitting there, not awkward as it would be with most people. Mycroft was thankful for that, not always wanting to talk while he’s at a bar, enjoying the tense feeling in his back and shoulders slowly fade away as he went through round after round. Lestrade seemed to feel the same way, his eyes scanning the crowd and watching people, sometimes just chuckling and pointing out the horrible dancers when Mycroft raised an eyebrow at him. The hours passed quickly as they laughed at the dancers and drank through the rounds. At one point – Mycroft wasn’t sure when – Lestrade had moved around to his side of the booth, they were now sitting hip to hip, laughing and pointing out the drunks. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world; sitting here with Lestrade, their legs touching, and just laughing and enjoying themselves. 

As Mycroft pointed out another couple, he felt a weight on his shoulder and a brush of hair against his neck. He craned his neck around to look down at the DI, who was cuddled up against his shoulder. 

“Gre’?” Mycroft slurred, resting his head on the DI’s and just breathing in his scent. Alcohol, oranges, and spice; a hypnotizing smell that the DI seemed to be carrying that had Mycroft turning his head farther to breath in the scent easier.

“Yes, My’oft?”

His hazy mind worked quickly, trying to figure out the best way to put what he thought was what he wanted to say. In his drunken state, it seemed like the right thing to say, to explain what he’s felt the past week, to explain what he wanted.

“I like yoo,” he muttered, the words falling from his lips before he could really stop them. 

“I lik’ yoo, too, My’coft,” Lestrade slurred into his neck. “Yoo a good fr’en’.”

“No, Gre’,” Mycroft shook his head, sitting up and forcing Greg to look at him. “I _like_ yoo.”

“Yoo men lik’-?”

Mycroft nodded before Lestrade even finished the sentence. The DI’s eyes widened as he stared at Mycroft’s, the blushes that were tinting their cheeks grew a deeper red as they held the gaze. When it all became too much for Mycroft to be sitting here and just looking into those eyes, he slowly leaned forward and pressed a sloppy, drunken kiss on the DI’s lips. Lestrade didn’t pull back; he hesitated for a moment before he returned it, the two of them opening their mouths and closing them around each other’s. It was sloppy and wet at best, but Mycroft didn’t care; he thought kissing Lestrade was the best feeling he had in a long time. When the DI pulled back, breaking the kiss at last, Mycroft whimpered in protest and tried to catch his lips again.

“No,” Lestrade shook his head, sliding out of the booth. He held a hand out the Mycroft, who took it after a moment of staring at it. “I wan’ to goh home, My’oft.”

Mycroft looked at the DI sadly as he was pulled from the bar and shoved into a taxi that sat outside. He hadn’t felt the same way when Mycroft kissed him, he had ruined it, now the DI hated him and didn’t want to be around him and-

His thoughts were interrupted when Greg pulled Mycroft’s head towards him by the back of his neck and kissed him messily. Mycroft hummed into the kiss, pulling Greg into his lap and kissing him deeply, swiping his tongue across the seam of his lips. Lestrade sighed and at the parting of the DI’s lips, Mycroft slipped his tongue in to explore his mouth, enjoying the bitter after taste of the alcohol.

The cab pulled up outside of Lestrade’s flat and Mycroft threw the cabbie some pounds to pay for the fee. He pushed the DI out of the cab and up to his front door, where Mycroft pressed him up against the wood and continued to attack his lips, nipping and swiping at them. He worked his way down Lestrade’s jaw and nipped at his neck, running his tongue over the marks to sooth the sting in them. Lestrade moaned as Mycroft teethed his neck and tilted his head back against the wood to give the man more room. He was sucking on his neck and the DI moaned in satisfaction, not caring if there was a mark there when this was all said and done. Mycroft worked the reddening skin as the DI released delicious moans and noises into the chilled night air. He pressed his body fully against Lestrade’s and both men moaned as their trapped erections rubbed against each other, creating a delicious dry friction. 

Mycroft released the skin of Lestrade’s neck, smiling as he saw the mark that rose there, and went up to crash their lips together once again, rubbing their hips together to keep that friction going. Lestrade moaned loudly, Mycroft swallowing it quickly with his mouth and sucking Lestrade’s lower lip in between his teeth, nibbling on it gently. 

“God, My’oft,” Lestrade moaned, one of his hands going around to grab Mycroft’s ass. “Let meh opehn the doooor.”

Mycroft took a step back just enough to let Lestrade work the key out of his pocket – one of his fingers brushed both their straining members and the two men moaned loudly – and worked the key into the lock, unlocking the door and letting the two of them stumble into the flat. Mycroft quickly pressed Lestrade into the door again, pushing their erections together and rubbing slowly as he kissed the DI. Both were panting heavily and Mycroft could feel an orgasm start to pool in his stomach. 

“Nahh… turn ‘roun’,” Mycroft growled into Lestrade’s ear, nipping at the lobe playfully.

Lestrade was too drunk to think about asking why and just turned around, pressing his member against the door and his face and palms there as well. When Mycroft’s hands grabbed his wrists, pinning them to the door, Lestrade thought he felt like the criminals he caught over the years, pinned to the wall and unable to move. He admitted a loud moan when Mycroft’s hips snapped forward against his ass, Mycroft’s member rubbing against his crack. Mycroft continued the snapping motion with his hips, creating the feeling that Lestrade was being fucked but with no penetrating pleasure. 

“God…” Lestrade moaned, resting his forehead against the wood and letting his nails scrap at the door, clenching his teeth together as an orgasm built up. “I’m gohnna…”

“Meh too,” Mycroft moaned, humping Lestrade faster. He stilled against Lestrade as his orgasm burst from him, his grip on Lestrade’s wrists tightening.

When Lestrade felt the warm, damp feeling of Mycroft’s orgasm soak through his pants, he couldn’t hold his in any more. He exploded inside his pants and against the door, moaning deep in his chest as he came. He knees gave out under him and he slid down the door with Mycroft still holding him. They curled up on the floor, Mycroft holding Lestrade tightly, and sleep soon took them under.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after, everything changes.

Mycroft woke up with his head pounding, the light sneaking into the flat through a window across the living room. He sat up with a groan, noticing he was sitting on the ground in a flat he couldn’t really place, but knew he had been there before. He shifted slightly to get a better look around and winced at the crusty feeling between his legs. He looked down and gasped at the white crust that coated his fabric over his crotch. Sliding his eyes sideways, he moaned and put his face in his hands as he saw Lestrade laying there, his pants coated in the same white crust.

“No,” he moaned, shaking his head. “Fuck… no, no, no, no, no… We couldn’t have…”

A groan next to him alerted him to the fact that Lestrade was awake. He waited for the explosion from the DI that was sure to come. “Mycroft?” came a soft voice, the tone nervous. “Why is there- Why are we-?”

“I’m sorry,” Mycroft muttered into his hands. “I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean for this to happen…”

“Mycroft? Look at me.” Lestrade said, his tone a soft determination

Mycroft hesitated for a moment before slowly raising his head to look at the man next to him. He met his gaze and only saw confusion. 

“What happened?” the DI asked, eyeing Mycroft and seeing the crust over his crotch as well. “Why do we-?”

“I think I dry humped you…” Mycroft muttered slowly, dropping his gaze. “I’m so sorry, Greg. I let my feelings take control when we were drunk and I shouldn’t have. I’ll be going. I’m sorry.”

Mycroft stood and collected his jacket –which somehow got thrown towards the living room at one point – and started towards the door. He had his hand on the knob when he felt a hand grab his. Mycroft turned to see Lestrade standing behind him, his hand holding onto Mycroft’s. Before Mycroft could open his mouth to say anything, Lestrade leaned forward and caught his lips in a slow kiss, just barely a ghost of lips that took Mycroft’s breath away. The slow movement of lips lasted for a few minutes before Lestrade pulled away, Mycroft feeling light headed from the dazzlingly slowly dance they had just went through with their lips. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Lestrade whispered, leaning his head against Mycroft’s forehead. “Just… don’t be.”

“What was I supposed to say?” Mycroft muttered back, his eyes closing as he just breathed in that scent from the night before. “We were drunk and I didn’t know if that was what you wanted or not… I just-“ His sentence was lost as Lestrade pulled him in for another light kiss, his tongue dashing out to begin a slow, agonizing dance with Mycroft’s. 

“You talk too much,” Lestrade smiled when they finally broke their kiss. Mycroft laughed lightly and pulled Lestrade closer by his hips, pulling him into a tight hug and snuggling close.

“So what do we do now?” Mycroft asked slowly. He’d never been in this sort of situation before. Sure, he’s gotten drunk and found himself waking up the next morning with someone he didn’t know or barely know, but every time he did he was able to just get up the next morning, apologize, and then walk out. This time it was with someone he actually called a friend, and this time he wasn’t able to just walk out. This time it was with Greg Lestrade, the man whose name escaped his lips as he came in the shower just a few hours ago. 

A man he very likely had strong feelings for. 

“I’m… not sure,” Lestrade muttered slowly, dropping his head to Mycroft’s shoulder and sighing. “I’ve never woken up to someone who I… well, you know.”

“No, tell me.” Mycroft pushed.

Lestrade groaned against Mycroft’s shoulder before sighing. “Someone who I actually might… sort of… kind of… fancy…”

Mycroft started at that and pushed Lestrade away slightly, holding him by the shoulders, to look at him in the eyes. “Fancy? You fancy me?” he asked, his grip on Lestrade’s shoulders tightening just a little. 

“I-I might, yes,” Lestrade nodded, not looking Mycroft directly in the eyes. “I think I do.”

“I think I may fancy you, too, Greg,” Mycroft couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face. “So… should we try a… well, a relationship, or something?”

“Mycroft Holmes, are you asking me out?” Lestrade smiled, his tone playful and cheeky. 

“A bit, yes,” Mycroft smirked. “And your answer?”

Lestrade straightened his face and broke the eye contact he and Mycroft had been holding. He thought for a moment, watching out of the corner of his eye Mycroft’s smirk quickly fade into a nervous frown. “Humm… I don’t know…” he said at length, letting a smirk cross his lips to let Mycroft know he was joking. But the Government agent apparently didn’t get it, because his frown deepened and he released the DI.

“Right,” he muttered. “Um, sorry, then.”

“Mycroft, I was kidding,” Lestrade chuckled, taking Mycroft’s wrist to keep the man from leaving. “I’d love to try things out with you.”

Mycroft smiled and nodded. “Right, good,” he said, looking at the DI slowly. 

_Maybe things will work out just the way we want them to._ He thought hopefully, unable to break the eye contact with Lestrade.

\-----------

It had been a month since Mycroft and Lestrade made it “official,” and now, Lestrade couldn’t be happier. His arm was wrapped around Mycroft’s middle, his body pressed to Mycroft’s back as the other man slept quietly in his arms, the breathing light and even. Lestrade had his face close enough to the back of Mycroft’s head that he could smell the shampoo of his lover. It smelled strongly of vanilla and pine; two smells that shouldn’t go so well together but was intoxicating on Mycroft. Lestrade breathed deeply for a few moments, relishing in the fact that Mycroft was his and his alone. The fact that he could lay down and sleep with this man almost every night was something that made Lestrade’s life just worth living. 

A small groan came from Mycroft’s form and he tensed slightly before relaxing again. His breathing wasn’t as deep and even as a moment before, so Lestrade could only guess that Mycroft was waking up. When Mycroft finally started twitching and confirming Lestrade’s guess, Lestrade sat up a little and leaned over his lover, kissing his temple. “Morning, love,” he whispered gently into Mycroft’s ear as Mycroft stirred.

“Emmmm, ‘morning,” Mycroft smiled, rolling slightly to look at Lestrade through tired eyes. “Sleep well?”

“Yes, and you?” Lestrade asked, sitting up and waiting for Mycroft to do the same. 

Mycroft sat up and stretched, his naked chest puffing out with a breath the man held before releasing it. “Fine,” he said, starting on the kinks that worked their way into his neck.

Lestrade turned Mycroft slowly so his legs were hanging over the edge of the bed and started messaging Mycroft’s neck, right where it met his shoulders, and Mycroft hummed in pleasure. “You feel tense, love,” Lestrade whispered, placing a light kiss on Mycroft’s neck. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just slept awkwardly on the pillow, I guess,” Mycroft muttered as Lestrade continued to kiss and work his neck. “But this helps.”

“Good,” Lestrade chuckled, continuing his work. They sat quietly for a while as Lestrade worked, Mycroft admitting a few soft moans when Lestrade hit an especially tense area and worked the knot out. When Lestrade finally pulled his hands away, Mycroft leaned back to catch his lips. 

“Thank you, dear,” he whispered against Lestrade’s lips, the DI chuckling at the awkward angle of the kiss. “You really are amazing at that.”

“And you’re amazing,” the DI said before giving Mycroft a small nudge. “And as much as I’d love to stay here all day with you, I sadly have work to get to, so I have to get up.”

Mycroft moaned quietly and looked at the time. “As do I, but I don’t want to go,” he muttered, nuzzling back into Lestrade and kissing his neck. “Much rather stay here with you.”

“I know, love, as would I,” Lestrade muttered, pecking Mycroft on the lips before, regretfully, pulling back and crawling out of bed. “Will you come back over here tonight?”

“I’ll try,” Mycroft sighed, standing. “I have a meeting that doesn’t end till about ten-thirty. I won’t be able to be here till about eleven, is that too late?” He followed Lestrade into the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe as the DI brushed his teeth. Lestrade shook his head and spit into the sink before answering. 

“No, of course not. I should be up then, so just come over whenever you can, love,” Lestrade rinsed his toothbrush and placed it back in the holder, moving over so Mycroft could brush his teeth as he combed his hair and washed his face. “Maybe I should just give you a key, so you can just come in and join me in bed even on these late nights.”

“Maybe, but I doubt that would be necessary for long,” Mycroft muttered, spitting into the sink and starting out to the bedroom once again. 

“Wait,” Lestrade paused in the middle of washing his face and threw the clothe down in the sink to follow Mycroft, his heart stopping at the words. “W-what do you mean by that?”

“I just mean, I doubt me having a key to your flat will do us much good in a few weeks,” Mycroft shrugged, pulling on his jacket and starting on his pants, not facing the DI. “Look, we’ll talk about it later, when we have time to sit down and, well, talk.” Mycroft finished his pants and tie and moved over to the half-dressed DI, pecking him on the cheek. “I have to run. I’ll see you tonight, Greg.”

Lestrade nodded and watched Mycroft leave the room, hearing the door slam shut downstairs. Moving back into the bathroom, he felt like he may be sick. Was his time with Mycroft really limited? Had he already tired of him? Had Lestrade already ruined what might be the best relationship he’s ever been in? 

Was Mycroft really hinting at breaking up with him already? 

Moving back into the bathroom, Lestrade turned the water in the sink on and watched it run, the sound of water hitting the tile just giving his ears something to listen to. Anger was boiling up in his gut; not at Mycroft, but at himself. He always fucked everything up, always made wrong choices or was always too clingy, or even wasn’t clingy enough – his work having to do with a big part of that one – but what had he done wrong with Mycroft? 

“Damn it,” he cursed loudly, slamming his fist into the counter and feeling the tingling of pain course through the side of his hand. He couldn’t lose it now, he may have been overreacting to the whole thing, or misunderstood what Mycroft was trying to tell him. 

But then, what was Mycroft trying to tell him? Why wouldn’t he need a key in a few weeks? It just didn’t make sense. Unless Mycroft was planning on breaking up with the DI in a few weeks – which Lestrade didn’t understand why he decided he wouldn’t do it right away but instead gave him a time frame – why wouldn’t he take a key? Lestrade gripped the counter and clenched his teeth hard, not allowing to let the emotions take him over. He had to go into work, do his job, and get his mind off of Mycroft. So he finished in the bathroom, dressed quickly and headed out; the whole time biting the inside of his lower lip to keep his emotions under control, the taste of blood chaining him to the painful reality of his life.

\-----------

A light knock sounded on the door around eleven-fifteen that night. Lestrade stood from the couch, his jeans falling back down to around his ankles from where they had bunched up and his thumb as well as his lower lips throbbing from where he had been bothering it. Crap telly was playing from the living room, but that was only a failed attempt to distract his mind from that morning. Work had been hell; no new cases, but mountains of paperwork. He wished a case had shown its self, seeing at least that would have a puzzle to distract his mind with. But sadly, the paperwork was mindless enough to let his mind wander freely.

Well, not _freely_ , for it always found its way back to Mycroft.

Lestrade opened the door for Mycroft, forcing a smile onto his face as he stepped back, the cold air from outside hitting his bare chest and stomach. “You know, I love walking in seeing you only half dressed,” Mycroft smiled, leaning over to kiss Lestrade lightly on the lips. His eyes were tired and filled with a distant haze, but were smiling non-the-less. “It almost makes the whole day worth it.”

“Almost?” Lestrade asked, trying to keep the bitter tone out of his voice. He closed his eyes when Mycroft looked away and sighed silently. He went up behind Mycroft and wrapped his arms quickly around his lover’s waist, resting his head on Mycroft’s shoulder and kissing his neck, working the skin between his teeth. 

“Well, hello there,” Mycroft growled, smiling down at Lestrade as best he could. 

“I have a surprise for you,” Lestrade growled deeply into Mycroft’s neck, working the skin harder and sucking on it.

“O-oh? Wh-what’s that?” Mycroft stuttered, tilting his head to the side so Lestrade could have more room to work. 

“Follow me,” Lestrade hissed, pulling back and smiling at the red, raised skin on Mycroft’s neck. He had to label him, had to let the world know he was still his. Taking Mycroft’s hand, Lestrade started to drag him towards the kitchen, Mycroft’s eyes looking darker with a lust.

\----------

“You know Greg and your brother are dating, right?” John asked out of the blue one morning, the daily paper blocking his face from Sherlock as he skimmed the headlines. When he didn’t get a response, John folded the top of the paper over to see if Sherlock had even heard him…

…Which was obvious he did by his face.

“I’m guessing you didn’t know?” John asked, holding back a chuckle at the distaste on Sherlock’s face. He turned a slightly pale shade of green and John couldn’t help the small giggle that somehow found its way out of his throat. “I figured he had told you-“

“How long?” Sherlock cut in, his voice betraying him badly as it cracked. He cleared his throat before turning back to his doctor, who was obviously still trying to fight the giggles. 

“About a month now,” John answered, forcing his face into a more serious expression, but damn was Sherlock making that a hard thing to keep. “Did he never call you to tell y-“

“No, never heard a word,” Sherlock bit back before the end of John’s sentence rolled off his lips. He fingered his phone from his pocket and angrily typed in Mycroft’s number, raising the device to his ear to listen. 

“Brother,” Mycroft answered, his voice a fake delighted tone. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“When?” Sherlock snapped into the line, knowing his brother wasn’t going to understand what he was asking, but frankly not giving a damn. 

An audible sigh sounded over the line from Mycroft’s end. “I’m afraid you have to be a little more specific with your questions, brother dear. I can deduce you in a heartbeat but that does not make me a physic.”

“When were you going to tell me you were dating Lestrade?” Sherlock snapped, annoyance obvious in his tone. 

Another audible sigh sounded and a shifting of weight in a chair that very much against the movement. “I didn’t feel it of any importance to you. Why must you know everything in my personal life?”

“You didn’t feel it of any importance? Is that so?” Sherlock’s grin turned predatorily for a moment before slipping back into his usual smirk. “Well, I wonder what Lestrade would think about that.”

“Sherlock,” John warned, standing up and placing his paper down. “This has nothing to do with you, Sherlock. Don’t even _kid_ about something like that.”

“Listen to your good doctor,” Mycroft growled, trying hard to keep his tone solid and firm, not letting the fear slip into it that he was feeling. “This has nothing to do with you, and you know you just twisted my words around to make them into something you wanted to hear.”

“I don’t know, Mycroft,” Sherlock smirked, ignoring John. “I mean, Lestrade doesn’t know that.”

“I swear, Sherlock, if you even so much as _breathe_ a word to Greg that isn’t true, and he’s to do something drastic because of it, I will personally hunt you down and make your life a living _hell_ ,” Mycroft growled, unable to control his temper any longer. 

Sherlock chuckled deeply. “Goodbye, brother dear,” he chuckled into the phone before hanging up, not allowing Mycroft to speak another word. 

Mycroft sighed heavily when he heard the disconnecting tone over the line. Turning back to his paperwork mountain, his mind couldn’t help but worry what Sherlock might be up to.

\----------

“You shouldn’t have done that, you know,” John said, obviously disapproving of the conversation that just went down between the two brothers. “You have no right poking your nose into other people’s business like that. Their love life doesn’t concern you, just as mine doesn’t and your non-existent one doesn’t concern us. You’re crossing a line here, Sherlock.”

“Oh, do shut up, John,” Sherlock moaned, rolling his eyes. John opened his mouth to respond, but Sherlock continued before he could. “I have the best intensions for this information, and if you don’t quit pestering me about what I should and should not do with it, something may just _slip_ and cost nothing but the two dear lovers, what could be, a great relationship.”

John opened and closed his mouth a few times before sighing deeply and just closing it, the words he wanted to say not even having a chance to win this argument. He just stood from his spot on the couch next to Sherlock and started into the kitchen. He busied himself with making tea, trying to forget what Sherlock was planning. He wanted no part of it unless he could stop Sherlock from ruining, what might be, the best thing that had ever happened to both Lestrade and Mycroft. John knew they were happy together and trusted each other, but would they be able to survive a blow from Sherlock?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get... sticky X) and we throw in some bad telly mystery

Mycroft stood in the doorway to the kitchen with his eyes shut tightly. Lestrade’s arms had left his waist no longer than a minute ago and Mycroft had already started to feel cold standing in the flat without Lestrade around him to keep him warm. 

“What are you doing, love?” Mycroft asked when he heard a particularly loud crash about ten feet in front of him, followed by a soft hiss. “Are you okay?” He began to open his eyes when hands were suddenly covering them. 

“Don’t look!” Lestrade whined, pecking Mycroft on the lips quickly before letting go. “I’m fine, just stay where you are. A little broken glass, no big deal.” A few rustling sounds in the far end of the room told Mycroft that Lestrade was getting the broom and dust pan to clean up the shattered glass. “I’m almost done, okay, love,” Lestrade muttered, heading to the trash to toss the glass into the bin, pausing to peck Mycroft on the lips again as he passed by. 

Mycroft moaned lightly, leaning into the kiss and not wanting to have to stand there any longer without knowing what Lestrade was doing. “You’re a bloody tease, you know that?” Mycroft growled, shaking his head when he heard Lestrade chuckle. 

Lestrade didn’t answer, but instead took Mycroft’s hands in his and pulled him forward a few steps into the kitchen. “Stay right there,” Lestrade smirked, placing his hands on Mycroft’s shoulders to tell him where to stop. Mycroft listened, and Lestrade went around to the entrance to flick the lights off. He went back to stand next to his lover, taking his hand and twining their fingers together. He leaned up to Mycroft’s ear and breathed into it, “Open your eyes.”

Mycroft did as he was told and let his eyes open. His mouth fell open as he took in the dishes laid out on the table. A chicken sat in the middle, slices of orange surrounding the golden brown bird; around the center plate sat side dishes of beans, rice, mashed potatoes, gravy, and sauces. Two glasses sat on either side of the table, each accompanied by an elegant plate – obviously Lestrade’s best. A bottle of blood red wine sat next to the bird, unopened and perfectly chilled. Mycroft turned to Lestrade, his mouth still open, and stared at his lover for a long moment.

“W-what’s all this?” he asked, taking in Lestrade’s eyes which were scanning Mycroft back. 

“Dinner. I, um, made it for us,” Lestrade muttered, tugging on Mycroft’s hand till he obliged and followed the DI to a chair, which Lestrade pulled out and offered to Mycroft. He pushed him in before taking the chair across from him.

“But why? Why would you go through all this trouble to make us dinner when you know take-out is perfectly fine?” Mycroft accepted a glass of wine that Lestrade offered to him and took a long, graceful swig from it. “Is it an important stepping stone in our relationship that I’ve forgotten?”

“Not unless I forgot as well,” Lestrade chuckled nervously, avoiding the question Mycroft was trying to pull out of him. 

“Then what?” Mycroft asked slowly, setting his glass down. 

Lestrade sighed and frowned down at the chicken for a moment. “It’s to say I’m sorry, Mycroft,” Lestrade spoke quietly, looking at his lap. When he didn’t continue, Mycroft prompted him on.

“For what, love?” 

“I don’t know… For everything?” Lestrade shook his head slowly. “I know you were planning on leaving me and, honestly, I don’t blame you for wanting to. I know I don’t make a good boyfriend, with my ungodly hours of work and nights out on cases and all. But, Mycroft, I don’t want to lose you; I want things to work out with us. I… really fancy you.”

“Lestrade, I have no intention of leaving you,” Mycroft said, his features slipping into a look of worry and confusion. “Where did you get that idea from, love?”

“I, um-“ Lestrade cut himself short and looked down into his lap. 

“No matter,” Mycroft said, folding the napkin he had placed in his lap and standing. He moved around and kneeling down next to Lestrade, making sure he met his eyes before continuing. “I am not leaving you, love. I want this to work as well and am glad that we are taking it slow. Most of my relationships have been just getting together, having sex for a few nights than watching them leave me. This is… the longest relationship I’ve ever had, and I have no intention on breaking it. I really fancy you, and I want to see where this takes us.”

Lestrade let a small smile cross his lips, the worry still present in his eyes. He pushed his chair back slightly before pulling Mycroft gently up into his lap, wrapping his arms around his lover’s waist. “Thank you,” he muttered, resting his head against Mycroft’s shoulder. 

“So are you okay now?” Mycroft asked gently, rubbing random patterns with his finger on Lestrade’s arm. 

“Nothing a kiss wouldn’t fix,” Lestrade smiled slightly. Mycroft chuckled and bent over to peck the DI on the lips gently. 

“Who knows,” Mycroft whispered into Lestrade’s lips, keeping the kiss light. “Maybe after this amazing dinner, I’ll have a little surprise for you.”

Lestrade shuttered under the heavy tone that Mycroft had developed in his lust. He wanted to pull the man closer to him, but Mycroft insisted that eating was best at this time, and so, moaning at the loss of contact, Lestrade let his lover go and watched him walk over to his spot at the table. 

They ate quietly, Mycroft sending heated glances up at Lestrade whenever he knew the man was looking. He couldn’t help but smile triumphantly when Lestrade moved his napkin to his lap and shifted uncomfortably, a small blush coloring his cheeks, in the middle of dinner. He continued the shifting every once in a while throughout dinner until they were both sitting there, Mycroft sipping his wine slowly, avoiding Lestrade’s gaze as the DI just sat there, hands in his lap and bothering his bottom lip.

“You okay, love?” Mycroft asked, lowering his wine glass slightly to smile knowingly up at Lestrade. 

“You’re a fucking tease,” Lestrade growled, looking at Mycroft through his lashes. “You _know_ I’m not okay. You bloody caused it and now you won’t even bother to try and fix it any time soon.”

Mycroft only smiled and took another sip of his wine. He made sure a nice bead of the blood red liquid ran down his chin and pooled just before running down his neck. He lowered his empty glass to the table and licked his lips, watching as Lestrade’s eyes widened, eyeing the bead of wine on his chin.

“Mycroft, you have-“

“Yes?”

Lestrade only stared at his lover, his lips parted and his hand half raised to his own chin to point out where the bead had stopped. His eyes grew dark with lust as he slowly stood, not taking his eyes off of Mycroft’s chin, and bent over the chair and his lover. He locked eyes with Mycroft for a few short seconds, the gaze full of lust, before slowly going down to lick the offensive liquid away, his tongue gentle and very, very, agonizingly slow. Tilting his head back to give Lestrade more room, Mycroft found his throat giving away a broken moan. 

Lestrade answered that moan deeply before going up to tug at Mycroft’s ear lobe, sucking on it before muttering, “Bedroom, now.”

Mycroft did _not_ have to be told twice. He stood quickly and took Lestrade’s hand in his, pulling him towards the bedroom. He pushed Lestrade down onto the bed and followed after him quickly, crawling up his body till their lips met in a light, needy dance of just lips and tongue. Lestrade’s hands ghosted down Mycroft’s sides till they landed gently in the small of his back, continuing downwards just slightly to tease before going back up to the indent. Mycroft gently started moving his hips, both men groaning as the friction built. 

Lestrade pushed on Mycroft’s chest lightly, forcing the man up off him so the DI could work the buttons free of their holds. As the buttons popped open, Lestrade dragged his nails down the newly exposed skin, making Mycroft shiver and arch his back down into the touch. Once fully undone, Lestrade ran the cloth off Mycroft’s shoulders, dragging his nails and caressing the skin. 

Mycroft wasn’t quiet as graceful, taking the helm of Lestrade shirt and yanking it up so the DI had no choice but to allow Mycroft to rid him of his shirt. Both of the shirts fell to the floor before Mycroft settled himself back on top of Lestrade, going up to clash their lips into a bruising kiss. His hips bucked forward, his jeans a painful restraint on his member but the friction between the two restrained erections was enough to make him forget most of the pain. 

“M-Mycroft?” Lestrade’s breathy voice broke the hazy state of Mycroft’s erected mind enough that Mycroft turned to look at the flushed DI. “I-I don’t know how far you… want to go, you know?”

Mycroft paused in his attempt at some sort of friction between the two blocked erections to stare down at Lestrade. How far did he want to go? They never saw each other _naked_ , let alone let the other penetrate. They didn’t give hand jobs, they didn’t do blow jobs; they kissed, they dry humped, they came, they slept. The only true contact they ever had was sleeping together; otherwise it was unfinished promises and unspoken words. 

Untaken paths. 

Was he even ready? If he wanted to, was he mentally ready to take Lestrade or have Lestrade take him? Could he pound Lestrade into the mattress and make love to him then be able to get up the next morning knowing what he’d done? Could he look at the DI and kiss him without it being awkward?

The only time he had ever had sexual contact with _anyone_ was one of those drunken nights where he woke up the next morning in some stranger’s bed. They’d wake up, he’d apologize, and the two men would than shake hands and go their separate ways, never having to worry about seeing each other again. Only one had Mycroft woken up to a female laying next to him, then, having given her his card in case _something_ happened due to their little drunken fun, he’d left, and never heard from her again. He’d never had sex then expected to stay.

Was he ready?

“I-I don’t know,” Mycroft muttered. He rolled off the DI to lie next to him, lying on his side and watching Lestrade turn to do the same. “I’ve never really… been in this situation before. Sober, with a man I care about not turning into a one night stand, you know?” 

“Yeah, and I’ve only ever did it with my ex-wives… which they weren’t at the time!” he added quickly, chuckling nervously. “I just… don’t want to make things difficult between us. I like having you around and really care about you. I don’t want to make it so you… leave.”

“Same here,” Mycroft nodded with sigh. He ran a hand through his hair and diverted his eyes away from Lestrade for a few minutes, letting the silence settle for a moment. “Maybe we should talk about this…” he finally said.

“I think that would be smart,” Lestrade nodded, sitting up. “I’ll make us some tea and we can just… sit here and talk first.”

Mycroft nodded his agreement as Lestrade stood – bare-chested – and exited the room to start making the tea. Mycroft sat there silently, listening to Lestrade in the kitchen, busying himself with the cups. _Could I fuck Greg Lestrade this early on?_ he wondered as he picked at the bed sheet. _Is it just too soon in our relationship to be thinking about sex? Or is it something deeper than that? Fear or… unattractiveness?_

Just as that thought crossed his mind, Lestrade came back in holding two cups of steaming hot tea. The steam ran from the lips of the cups and caressed the DI’s exposed skin, dancing around his visible muscles and seeming to make his small pink nipples stand out deviously. _Not unattractiveness,_ Mycroft mused as a smirk crossed his face and he stood to help Lestrade with the cups. 

“Thank you, love,” he whispered, pecking Lestrade on the cheek as he took his mug. The two men sat on the bed, crossed legs and bare chests, sipping their tea. 

“So,” Lestrade muttered after a long moment. “What were you thinking? I don’t want to push things too fast.”

“Same here, I’m worried that if we jump into something like that so soon it’ll end up just becoming awkward. I’d rather wait and just go slow,” Mycroft nodded, sipping his tea and lowering it to cradle it in his lap. “I’m thinking that’s why we’re both so hesitant on saying… well, you know.”

Lestrade hummed and nodded, bothering the inside of his cheek as he thought. It’s true that neither of them had come around to saying they loved each other yet, but sometimes, just by the little actions they made towards each other, the little things they did, Lestrade wanted to say they were words that just didn’t have a need to be spoken. It was just obvious that they did. 

“I think we should just keep waiting,” Mycroft continued on. “I mean, it’ll happen when it happens, right? Maybe we’re just thinking too much, and that’s how we know we’re not ready.”

“I agree with that,” Lestrade smiled, glad that they could so easily understand each other and agree just like that. “If we’re not going to try it tonight, do you want to go cuddle on the couch and just watch a movie?”

“I’d like that, but let’s save the movie for another night. It’s late, so let’s just watch some crap telly for a little bit then head to bed.”

“Sounds great.”

So they stood and made their way out to the couch, Mycroft snaking his hand into Lestrade’s as they walked, mugs in hand. Mycroft sat down first and held his arms open for the DI to sit in his lap. When Lestrade did and they had shifted into a comfortable position, Mycroft placed a light kiss on the DI’s neck as the DI flicked on the telly and started flipping through the channels. After too many channel switches, the men agreed on a murder show neither had ever seen before. They sat quietly, listening to the detectives go over the clues they had found so far that they missed while searching. 

“It’s obvious,” Mycroft muttered slowly, unsure if Lestrade would get mad if he told him his guess. “It’s obviously the-“

“Brother,” Lestrade finished in a deadpan, not taking his eyes off the screen.

Mycroft stared at him for a moment before shaking his head. “I’m sorry, love, but it’s not the brother. It’s the maid. The blood they found in the kitchen eliminates the brother at once, and the knife wounds were obviously made by a trained hand, meaning the murderer had to have some form of training. The brother is a brat 34 year old male who’s probably never even been in a kitchen, let alone touch a knife.”

“Yes, as true as that all is, that smudged letter they found at the scene of the crime was on the same paper the brother had on his _locked_ desk. Plus, look at those wounds, starts high left and goes down right; the murderer was left handed, and the maid is a righty. The brother is a lefty by the way his letters tilt slightly to the left in his cursive on that letter addressed to his mother they showed ten minutes ago.”

“Care to place a little bet?” Mycroft smirked.

“Sure, I bet the brother did it. Loser has to do what?” Lestrade said, turning his attention to Mycroft.

“Hummm,” Mycroft thought for a moment, his grip around Lestrade tightening. “Cook for a month?”

“No take out.”

“Breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

“Deal!”

They didn’t want to shake on it, seeing that would mean shifting their position, so instead, Mycroft leaned up and kissed Lestrade lightly on the lips. They waited as the commercials ended and the show came to an end.

“I know where we’ll find our suspect,” the main character, Jasmine Dalore finally muttered and the screen faded to black as it switched scenes. 

“Freeze!” A man’s voice shouted, kicking down the door and pointing a gun around the flat. Lestrade watched eagerly as the camera turned to the murderer. Dean Lucas, Arthur Lucas’ brother, stood there, hands in the air. “You are under arrest for the murder of Arthur Lucas and-“

“Ha!” Lestrade smiled and turned to Mycroft, his smile threatening to take over his face, already reaching his eyes. “I was right!”

Mycroft chuckled and looked away, light annoyance pinging in his gut. “Great, now I have to cook everyday for a month…”

“Three times a day, love,” Lestrade smiled, leaning forward and kissing Mycroft lightly. “No take out.”

“Fine, but be ready for really crappy food. I can’t cook to save my life!” Mycroft laughed, pulling Lestrade closer to him. He couldn’t help it; Lestrade was just so cute when he smiled. Something about it made him seem like a teenager again – granted, a teenager with gray hair, but that was besides the point. 

“I’m sure you’ll do fine if yo-“

“You’re beautiful.” The words spilled from his mouth before he really had a chance to stop them, or even think about what he was saying. He felt Lestrade tense up in his arms slightly and Mycroft pulled his head back enough to look into the DI’s eyes. A strong blush had taken over his cheeks and his smile had faded; now he just stared at Mycroft, unsure of what to say. “I- um-”

“You’re beautiful.” Lestrade muttered the words so quietly Mycroft didn’t know if he heard him correctly. The blush on Lestrade’s cheeks darkened, if that was possible, and Mycroft felt a blush creeping up on him as well. “I mean that.”

Mycroft stared up at Lestrade as the DI looked down at him, his hands around Mycroft’s which rested on Lestrade’s middle. “You think… I’m beautiful?” he asked slowly, his mind unable to except the words as truth. He had never seen himself as beautiful, or even attractive. He thought he looked powerful in his suits, or threatening, but never beautiful.

“I do,” Lestrade muttered, turning in Mycroft’s grip to look at the man better. “You’re beautiful, and handsome, and a damn amazing kisser, and just… amazing.”

Mycroft laughed lightly, mostly in flattered nerves, before pulling Lestrade down for a hungry kiss. “I think all the same things, Greg,” Mycroft muttered into Lestrade’s lips. “And so much more.”

Lestrade shifted again, this time making it so he was straddling Mycroft’s hips. Carefully, the show completely forgotten, Lestrade shifted Mycroft till he was lying down and Lestrade was hovering over him, kissing him deeply. He swiped his tongue over the seam of Mycroft’s lips and dipped in as the other man’s lips parted in a silent sigh. Lestrade licked in hungrily, starting out slowly and avoiding Mycroft tongue directly. He licked around the insides of Mycroft’s lips before going to move around his teeth. Once that was all mapped out, Lestrade pressed his lips harder against Mycroft’s and allowed their tongues to start the quick waltz they always did. 

Their hands searched and roamed the naked upper half of each other’s bodies, mapping out and pin-pointing exactly where the other male was more sensitive. When Lestrade went down to suck on one of the small pink nubs, Mycroft let out a yelp that froze the both of them, Lestrade quickly letting go and sitting up to look at Mycroft, slight worry in his eyes. 

“Did I do something?” he asked slowly, looking Mycroft’s face and half top of his torso over. “What happened?”

“Y-you just shocked me… I guess… No one’s ever touched there before,” Mycroft muttered, turning pink. “But I… I liked it.”

Lestrade only smiled before he went back down to work on the nipple once again. Mycroft, resting his head on Lestrade’s shoulder, moaned deeply into his neck, his eyes closing in the pleasure that coursed through his body. He could feel himself getting hard, and hoped Lestrade wouldn’t notice. They never had that sort of issue before while they were just kissing; yet, neither of them ever teethed at something below each other’s necks. 

\----------

Lestrade stopped when both nipples were hard and erect, burning a bright pink against Mycroft’s white skin. He shifted slightly as he crawled back up to kiss Mycroft and stopped just short of his lover’s mouth. Something was pressing against his inside thigh, hard and _long_. He shifted again and looked down between the two of them, a bulge clearly raised in Mycroft’s trousers, straining against the material. “Uh, love..?” he started, raising an eyebrow at the bulge. He knew he should really look away, but he just… couldn’t.

“I know,” Mycroft muttered, shifting and sliding a hand between them, trying to press the bulge down. “I’m sorry, I can’t help it.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Lestrade muttered, watching as Mycroft pressed down on his erection. Lestrade’s own crotch twitched in interest as he watched Mycroft’s hand against the material, his hand desperately trying to get his member to lay down flat. It was almost like watching Mycroft touch himself, and it turned Lestrade on quickly. Before he could even think about what was happening, his trousers had grown painfully tight and he was shifting, trying to get some sort of relief. “Fuck,” he muttered, sitting back more and trying to press his own erection down. He saw, out of the corner of his eye, Mycroft’s eyes grow wide at the sight. 

“You… are not making this easier,” he growled, shifting under Lestrade until the DI got up and Mycroft could slide out from under him. “Damn it… hand me that blanket.”

Lestrade did what Mycroft asked of him and passed the folded blanket. He watched, breathlessly, as Mycroft unfolded the blanket and draped the cloth over his lower half.

“What are you-“

“Do forgive me for this, love,” Mycroft muttered as he slid one hand under the blanket. A pop of a button and the zipper coming undone had Lestrade’s eyes flying open. Mycroft shifted as he lowered his trousers just a little, and the tent of the blanket became a little higher. Slowly, Mycroft’s hand started moving, and Mycroft let out a deep, breathy moan, his head rolling back.

“Oh, dear God…” Lestrade breathed as he watched his lover wank off _right in front of him_. Mycroft covered his mouth with his free hand to stifle a loud moan that was pulled from his throat. “Love…”

“G-Greg…” Mycroft moaned, his eyes locking on his lovers. “God… G-Greg…”

Lestrade’s breath hitched as Mycroft moaned his name. Their eyes locked, Lestrade could feel his own erection pressing harder against his zipper, feeling like his trousers would just burst open at any moment. “I-I’m going to need that bl-blanket after you…” Lestrade muttered, crawling closer to Mycroft and removing his hand from his mouth.

Mycroft nodded before letting out another throaty moan, having it swallowed quickly by Lestrade’s mouth, a bruising kiss being pressed down on him. His hand started picking up speed, a small twist being added to the end as a pool of pleasure started to gather in Mycroft’s gut. 

Lestrade let his tongue swipe out over Mycroft’s lips and quickly dipped in as Mycroft let him in a silent sigh. He mapped out Mycroft’s mouth slowly, noting where every change in taste occurred; where Mycroft was most sensitive and where gave him the most satisfaction when he licked over. Once all that was noted down in the back of the DI’s mind, Lestrade wrapped his tongue around Mycroft’s and sucked his into his mouth. He sucked on it gently, nipping it as he went. Mycroft shuttered as he did so, leaning up to try to get his tongue in farther to Lestrade’s mouth. 

“Em clooth,” he mumbled as best as he could while Lestrade sucked on his tongue. His hips bucked up into his hand and he was moving faster. His mind replaced his hand with Lestrade’s, which only brought Mycroft that much closer. “Oh… Emmm!”

Mycroft’s hand stopped and his mouth pulled back slightly from Lestrade’s – his tongue still in the other man’s mouth – so he could pant heavily. His orgasm burst from him and coated the inside of the blanket, a wet spot spreading quickly across the top of the bright red blanket. Lestrade released his tongue when he saw the wet spot and felt the shutters. He took Mycroft’s mouth with his again and kissed him slowly, seductively, through his orgasm.

Mycroft collapsed back against the couch, his lips losing contact with Lestrade’s as he started to pant heavily, all his muscles feeling completely undone. Lestrade’s hand appeared over his and he squeezed gently, getting close to Mycroft’s face and tugging playfully on the edge of the blanket. “My turn,” he growled, making Mycroft smile knowingly.


	6. Chapter 6

“I’m impressed,” John muttered, looking up from his medical journal at his flatmate, who was sulking on the couch, deep in thought. 

“Humm?”

“That Greg and Mycroft have been doing so well together,” John said, closing his book. He had, luckily, convinced Sherlock not to share his little _misunderstood_ conversation he had with Mycroft with Lestrade. “You know, they’re coming up on their six months.”

“Humm.”

“I wish I could find someone that’s right for me like they did. They seem so happy together, it’s adorable-“

“My brother is _not_ adorable in _any_ way!” Sherlock snapped, turning his attention on John. “I never want to hear you say that again.”

“Well, Sherlock, they are adorable together.” John paused for a moment, the flat falling silent for a few moments after Sherlock’s disapproving grunt. “Have you ever thought about it?”

“What?”

“Dating… a guy?”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at John’s question, the doctor turning a light shade of pink. “John-“

“N-never mind, Sherlock, that might have been a little too personal and-“

“I have, yes,” Sherlock cut him off, locking eyes with the doctor.

“Oh,” John muttered. “Could I… ask who?”

Sherlock sighed and sat up to stare at John easier. “You can, yes,” he muttered, nodding.

“Um… who?”

“You.”

John’s heart stopped as that word passed Sherlock’s perfectly pink lips. He heard ringing in his ears as the blood rushed to them and nerves over took him. “R-really?”

“Yes, but they are simply thoughts,” Sherlock said as if brushing it off his shoulder, standing and moving over to his violin. “I doubt it’ll ever mean anything.”

He started tuning his violin, leaving John to sit there and stare at the man at the window. He really couldn’t believe it, Sherlock’s thought about dating him…

“What if I want it to mean something?” John blurted out before he could stop himself. He mentally slapped himself as Sherlock turned towards him, his violin in mid-tune.

“Why?” Sherlock asked slowly, raising his eyebrow at him again. “What would we have to gain from dating?”

“I-I don’t know,” John muttered, blushing even deeper. “I’ve just… kinda fancied you… for a while…”

“I know.”

“And I just… want to try it…”

“I know.”

“And since you’ve thought about it…”

“John.”

“Yeah?”

Sherlock turned away from John, his violin back up on his shoulder. He continued to tune it as he said, “Do just shut up.”

John stared at Sherlock’s back for a long time. His heart dropped from pounding in his chest to drowning in his stomach. He felt like he was going to be sick. He felt overheated. He felt cold. He felt a hundred things at once and he didn’t know what to do, but he knew he was going to be sick.

“R-right…” he muttered, his eyes filling with silent tears. “What was I… what was I thinking…”

Sherlock turned around to face John – doubled over in his chair, his hands fisted together on his knees and his eyes cast down to the floor, damp. “Are you alright, John?”

“Fine, Sherlock,” he muttered, standing and avoiding Sherlock’s eyes. He quickly retreated to his room before Sherlock could see the tears falling. He locked his door behind him and sat on the edge of the bed. What was he thinking? Sherlock would never date him.

\----------

It had been half a week since the confession between the two men and John hadn’t left his room. Sherlock, oddly enough, started to worry about his dear blogger. Was he really this upset over what happened? 

Sherlock, unsure of what else to do, made a quick cup of tea, added what John liked in his, and jotted a note down on a small note pad they had laying around. He ripped out the sheet and went upstairs to John’s door. He set the cup and note down on the floor, knocked three times, then retreated back downstairs. He heard the door of his room open, a heavy sigh come from that direction, then the door snap closed. 

\----------

John opened his door and looked up and down the hall. He heard Sherlock knock, then footsteps retreat from the door. What could Sherlock possibly want only to retreat before he told his request to John? Sighing, John looked down at the floor in front of his door. There, still steaming hot, sat a nice mug of tea. A note sat under the cup and he picked both up, unfolding the note and closing the door, locking it once again.

_I’m sorry. Finish your tea then come down to talk. –SH_

John sighed heavily, but decided to talk to Sherlock. He seemed actually sorry, seeing he _never_ made tea or apologized. So, drinking his tea slowly, John opened the door to his room and went down stairs to find Sherlock sitting at the table, his fingers stapled under his chin and elbows leaning against the counter. He was quiet attractive John couldn’t help but let that thought cross his mind as he approached his friend and cleared his throat.

“Oh, John, you came down,” Sherlock said, turning to his flatmate as he took the seat across from the detective. “I really am sorry.”

“Yeah, right, what did you want to talk about?” John asked, not sure if he could honestly forgive Sherlock just yet.

“What I said earlier this week,” Sherlock started, glancing down at his own mug of tea that sat in front of him, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you to… well, my point is, if you wish to still try it, I’m willing to give it a shot.”

John felt his mouth drop open, unable to believe what he’s hearing right now. “You want to… date me?”

“Yes, John.”

“And you know that means having contact with each other, right?”

“Yes, I know.”

“And cuddling?”

“I know.”

“And kissing?”

“Yes, I’m well aware how a relationship works.”

“And you’re okay with all of that?” John asked, raising an eyebrow.

“John, I did date back in my high school years. Granted, I’ve never truly dated a boy, I have kissed a few before and I know how relationships go. Although I don’t see the point in sexual contact, or any form of contact at that; I am willing to put all that aside and have a true, possibly loving relationship with you, just as Lestrade and Mycroft have,” Sherlock said, his voice as serious as it could get. John watched him carefully for a few moments, scanning him over and thinking carefully. Sherlock continued, “So, John, will you date me?”

John thought for a few more seconds before realizing he really wasn’t that mad at Sherlock. He nodded, unsure if he could trust his voice at the moment. Sherlock let a smile spread across his face.

“John, I want to warn you now, I may be a bit rusty on this dating stuff. Please, do forgive me if I mess up. I’m going to be trying my best, but correct me if I do wrong.”

“I will, Sherlock,” John muttered, nodding. His voice was soft and affectionate as he let his eyes scan his new boyfriend carefully. “And same for me. Although I’m not rusty in dating, I don’t know what you do and don’t like. Please, communicate with me.”

“I will… so what do we do now?” Sherlock asked slowly, sipping his tea. “I mean, do we… kiss? Or what?”

“W-we can, if you want to…”

“Do you want to?”

“A little, but I also don’t want to rush things and have things become weird. Would you be okay if we were to kiss?”

“I have no objections against it.”

“Let’s move into the sitting room, then. I think it’d be easier and less awkward if we were to try on the couch rather than over the table.”

“Agreed…”

Sherlock stood and motioned for John to go ahead of him. When the doctor finally did make his way to the sitting room and took a seat on the couch, Sherlock soon joined him, unable to meet John’s eyes.

“You ready, Sherlock?”

Sherlock sighed deeply and turned to John. “Just a warning, although I have kissed guys before, that was years ago. I kissed them when I was drunk, or at least had something of a drink, and they were all complete strangers, myself having no intention of making a relationship out of them. Please, forgive me if I seem hesitant. Bare with me,” he muttered, reaching around to cup the back of John’s neck in his hand. 

As Sherlock leaned forward, his eyes locked on John’s, John couldn’t help the spike in his heart rate. Before, the relationship all seemed like just another step into their friendship, like it was no big deal. Now… Now it felt all too real. Sherlock was here, he was going to be kissing him and the two of them would have an official relationship full of kissing and affection – as much as Sherlock will give, anyway - and who knows what else it will hold for them. Will it all work out? Is something going to happen between the two men that pull them apart? That ruins their friendship, possibly, for good? Is, because of this kiss, he going to lose the one true friend he’s had in years?

Sherlock paused, inches from John’s lips. He could see the emotions swimming in his partner’s eyes, the uncertainness and the nerves and the questions. “Relax,” Sherlock murmured, his breath ghosting over John’s lips. “I’m not going to hurt you, promise.”

With the smallest nod, John leaned forward the rest of the way and caught Sherlock’s lips gently. That promise danced between their waltzing lips, connecting them and holding them together in a way a simple kiss could not. Sherlock had promised not to hurt him, and because of the soft lips that now open and closed around his mouth in perfect harmony with his, he could trust him. Sherlock wasn’t going to hurt him. He wasn’t going to leave him. The kiss was a promise to stay with him and protect him, just as they always have.

They held the kiss for a few more seconds before Sherlock pulled away, panting slightly. John felt breathless and the light kiss had left him feeling light headed. He leaned his forehead against Sherlock’s and closed his eyes, the taste of Sherlock still on his lips. 

“You’re amazing,” Sherlock muttered, one hand going down to take John’s and twist their fingers together. “I think this may work.”

“So do I… I want this to work.”

Sherlock was quiet for a long moment before nodding. “So do I,” he muttered, and John pulled him in for another kiss, letting their lips dance together slowly.


	7. Chapter 7

Lestrade woke up that morning to an empty bed, Mycroft nowhere to be seen. It was their one year anniversary today and at their seventh month, they had celebrated by moving in together to Mycroft’s flat. 

Lestrade’s flat was now more for storage or office space, keeping old files and paper work in there, along with flash drives of documents or filing cabinets with important paper they didn’t really need to keep right at hand. It still held some boxes of Greg’s stuff, but it wasn’t important enough to move in right away, if ever. 

Mycroft’s house was more of a small mansion, three stories high with four bedrooms, three bathrooms, one half bathroom, a kitchen, a large family room with a large living room in the next room over, a _game room_ \- which is what surprised Lestrade the most, being surrounded by all the air hockey tables and video game systems – as well as art rooms and offices for three people – two now being used. It was really amazing, and at first, Lestrade was a little overwhelmed. But after the five months of living here with his wonderful boyfriend, it all seemed normal. It was big, yes, but Mycroft was a powerful man who needed a powerful looking mansion.

His mansion sat on the very east side of town, right where the ground turned from the busy-body of London to wide open plains for miles upon miles. Fifty-seven acres of those miles upon miles belonged to Mycroft or – at his insistence – the two of them. Their bedroom sat on the third floor and had a window that over looked the ground; trees and hills greeting them every morning when they woke up. Lestrade sat up and looked at the window and its seated windowsill, half expecting to see Mycroft sitting there, seeing it was his favorite place to sit in the whole house. With no Mycroft there, and Lestrade knowing Mycroft didn’t have work today, he started to worry. Mycroft always stayed in bed with Lestrade when neither of them had work, especially on their anniversaries. 

With a groan, Lestrade pulled himself from the warmth of the covers and quickly started to make his way down the stairs. The slightly nippy air of the early morning pricked his legs and arms, having only boxers and a white t-shirt on, but he couldn’t care less. He wanted to find Mycroft and make sure his lover was okay. 

A dry, painful sounding cough greeted Lestrade as he entered the kitchen on the first floor. Mycroft sat at the table, a cup of steaming tea sat in front of him and he was leaning over it, letting the steam dance around his face.

“Love?” Lestrade asked, worry seeping into his voice as he entered farther into the room. He sat next to Mycroft and wrapped an arm around his lover’s shoulder. “What’s wrong, are you feeling okay?”

“I’m feeling fine, love,” Mycroft muttered, looking up at Lestrade until a cough forced him to look away again. “Just a damn cough…”

“But you feel fine otherwise?” Lestrade asked, running a hand through Mycroft hair. 

“Yes, it may just be allergies. I honestly doubt it is anything else,” Mycroft muttered, leaning into the touch and curling up into his lover. He closed his eyes and rested his head on Lestrade’s shoulder, just focusing on breathing. 

“Well, just in case, I want you to go upstairs and lay down. I’m going to make you a new cup of tea and we can have breakfast in bed,” Lestrade said gently, standing and kissing Mycroft on top of the head. He watched Mycroft stand with a nod. “Go.” He chuckled, smacking Mycroft on the butt to get him to go faster. Mycroft yelped and shot Lestrade a glare over his shoulder, a smirk softening the glare slightly. He went up the stairs before Lestrade could do it again, hearing the DI chuckling after him. 

Lestrade turned back to the stove, a smirk still on his face, and started to prepare the kettle. He turned from the stove when the water was in place and started to prepare a thing of fruit salad, cutting up strawberries, blueberries, and melons and placing them in a bowl for the two of them. He made toast, spread butter and jam on the slices and went back to the tea, pouring them each a mug and adding what the two of them liked. He also quickly scrambled some eggs and placed that on a plate, he placed everything on a tray along with two forks and started up to the bedroom.

“Here we go, dear,” Lestrade said as he moved into the room. “Do you at least feel hungry?”

“A little, yes,” Mycroft nodded, moving the blanket so Lestrade could slip into bed with him. They placed the tray between them and lay on their sides, each taking a fork. “Thank you for all this, love. I know you didn’t have to do it.”

“Yes I did,” Lestrade argued with a chuckle. “You’re my boyfriend, I have to take care of you.”

Mycroft chuckled and took a sip from his mug. “You don’t _have_ to-“

“Then I want to,” Lestrade cut him off, leaning over the tray once Mycroft put his mug down and kissing him on the cheek. “I, um… I love you…”

Mycroft paused, a bite of egg half way to his mouth before he lowered it to the tray to look at Lestrade. “Y-you what?”

“I love you,” Lestrade repeated. They had never once told each other those three little words, having seen no point in it. Their actions told the other what they needed to know, so hearing Lestrade speak those words made something in Mycroft’s chest tighten and his heart to start to race. 

“I love you, Mycroft. I do…” Lestrade said, blushing lightly as they held eye contact, Mycroft’s cheeks turning red as well.

“I… I love you, too, Greg,” he murmured at last. He lifted the tray and placed it down on the ground next to the bed, his cough forgotten, and moved over to where Lestrade was. Kissing him on the lips deeply, Mycroft wrapped an arm around his lover’s waist and held him close. 

“Mycroft?” Lestrade whispered, his lips never leaving Mycroft’s.

“Yes, darling?”

“I-I think I’m ready…”

“For wha-?” Mycroft cut himself off, pulling back to look at Lestrade. His eyes scanned Lestrade’s, seeing the seriousness in them. 

“Would you be willing to… try it?”

Mycroft continued to scan his lover’s eyes, trying to find his answer. After a while of silence, Mycroft nodded, deciding if Lestrade was ready, he was too. “Yes,” he whispered before pulling Lestrade back into bruising kiss. “You lead.”

“A-alright,” Lestrade nodded. He moved the two of them, never letting their lips break contact, so Lestrade was on top of Mycroft. He sat back on Mycroft’s hips and started lifting Mycroft’s shirt up, running his hands over the skin as it was revealed. He balled his lover’s shirt up under his arms and took a moment to tease at Mycroft’s now-exposed nipples. He went down and sucked one between his lips, flicking his tongue over it and sucking on it, teething it gently. 

Mycroft moaned loudly as Lestrade’s lips found his nipple, teasing it and sucking on it. He could feel himself getting harder, his pants becoming tighter. He shifted uncomfortably and moaned deeply when his erection brushed Lestrade’s leg. His fingers dug into the sheets and his back arched up into Lestrade’s mouth as the DI moved to the next nipple, the first now being teased in Lestrade’s fingers. 

“G-god, Greg…” Mycroft moaned loudly, throwing his head back into the pillows of the bed. 

Lestrade worked the nipple till it stood pink and erected, mirroring the other. He let go and quickly crawled up to Mycroft’s mouth again, kissing him hungrily. Pulling back, then went down to breathe over Mycroft’s ear, panting. He raised two fingers to Mycroft’s lips, pushing gently. “Suck,” he muttered as Mycroft’s breath ghosted over his two fingers.

“Why?” he breathed, Lestrade pushing the digits harder against Mycroft’s lips. 

“Do you have lube?” Lestrade growled.

“N-no…”

“So, suck!”

Mycroft quickly took the two digits into his mouth and wrapped his tongue around them. He swirled them around his mouth before beginning to suck. He was gentle at first, just a light suction using his tongue more than anything. After a few minutes of light sucking – and after Lestrade all but shoved his fingers down Mycroft’s throat to get him to suck harder after telling him did nothing – Mycroft started to suck with a little more force on the digits. Once Lestrade thought that his fingers were evenly coated, he quickly popped Mycroft’s trousers open with one hand and coasted them over his hips, along with his boxers. 

Mycroft yelped as he was stripped, the breeze in the flat suddenly hitting his lower half. He closed his eyes, Lestrade’s hand ghosting over his skin, and waited.

“Are you sure you want this?” Lestrade asked gently, his fingers starting to circle Mycroft entrance slowly as his lovers eyes closed. He wanted Mycroft to be comfortable with the idea, and not just do it because Lestrade had wanted it. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Y-yes, Greg. I-I’m sure. Please… P-please…” Mycroft muttered, leaning up to nip at Lestrade’s neck. He wasn’t sure what he was begging for, but he couldn’t stop the plea from escaping his lips. He just knew he had to have Lestrade, and he needed the man to know.

Lestrade nodded before slipping one finger into his lover to the first knuckle. He moved it slightly, bending it and stretching his lover before adding the next knuckle up the finger. Mycroft moaned at the slightly uncomfortable feeling of Lestrade’s finger filling him and stretching him. He relaxed slightly as Lestrade pushed in deeper, trying to ease away the discomfort. Soon enough, Lestrade’s first finger was all the way in, and he was twisting it back and forth. 

“You’re so tight, my love,” Lestrade growled into Mycroft’s ear, nibbling on the lobe his breath had ghosted over. “Are you always this tight?”

“Nehhhh,” Mycroft moaned, unable to get a proper answer out from his throat. He squirmed slightly as Lestrade added another finger, entering the two of them in to the first knuckle. 

Lestrade pushed his two fingers in as far as they could go, bending them slightly and kissing the corners of Mycroft’s mouth as he made those deviously sweet moans and groans. He worked his fingers for a few more minutes, pulling them out before quickly shoving them back in. He worked Mycroft for a while, stretching him, before pulling all the way out and sitting up to undo his own pants. Once he was naked as well, he shifted on top of Mycroft, lining his member up to his entrance. 

Mycroft moaned loudly, his head falling back, as Lestrade pushed into him slowly; so agonizingly slow. He felt Lestrade’s body press up against him fully and the man paused, obviously watching his own face to see if he should go on. 

“For God’s sake, Greg, _move_ ,” Mycroft growled, pushing his hips off the bed slightly so Lestrade could get closer. Lestrade took the hint it was okay to continue before he gently, shallowly, started to pump his hips. 

Mycroft moaned pathetically under Lestrade as his lover started moving. Sitting up slightly, he dug his teeth into Lestrade’s shoulder to muffle the moans, nibbling his way up to his lover’s pulse. Lestrade mumbled something along the lines of, “Oh, God!” under his breath and picked up the pace, moving his hips, enjoying the little noises that Mycroft released.

“You’re beautiful,” Lestrade muttered as Mycroft released his neck. Quickly, Lestrade took control of Mycroft’s lips, kissing him hungrily. “I love you, I really do.”

Mycroft hummed softly and chuckled as Lestrade sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. “You too,” he managed out before Lestrade connected their lips again. Lestrade chuckled deeply against Mycroft’s lips and picked the pace up again. 

“I’m close,” he muttered, pulling away from Mycroft just slightly so his panting breath ghosted over his lover’s lips. “God, Mycroft. God…”

Mycroft moaned as he felt the pool of lust fill his stomach. He knew he was close, but he wasn’t quite ready to go over the edge just yet. “L-love?” he asked slowly, moaning as Lestrade hit perfectly on those bundle of nerves deep inside him. “L-love?”

“Yes?” Lestrade panted back, leaning their foreheads together and whimpering as Mycroft’s entrance tightened around him. 

“I-I need you to… to touch me…” Mycroft moaned, blushing deeply at the sentence. He watched as Lestrade’s eyes met his, a deep, dark lust coating the gaze, before he nodded slowly. Lestrade wrapped one arm around Mycroft’s waist till his fingers brushed against the straining member, slowly wrapping them around it. He pumped slowly at first, smirking at the moans and grunts Mycroft made, before he picked up to match the pace of his hips. 

Mycroft reached up to pull Lestrade down by the back of his neck, bringing him to an agonizingly slow kiss of pure, unhindered lust that just screamed hunger. The kiss was mind-blowing, to say the lease. Mycroft’s tongue snaked its way into Lestrade’s mouth and was starting to do some slow, teasing dance with his. One of his hands was on the back of Lestrade’s neck, while the other was playing with one of Lestrade’s still hard nipples, tweaking it between two fingers. Both men groaned and grunted into the kiss as Lestrade continued to move, both getting closer and closer to the edge. 

“I can’t… Can’t last… much… longer,” Mycroft muttered breathlessly between kisses. “T-too good.”

Lestrade could only nod, keeping the pace at an even speed to bring Mycroft the most pleasure. As he was pushed by his lover closer to the edge, he started to clamp down on Lestrade, trying to keep him in as much as he could. His orgasm bubbled up, his muscles tightening before he exploded on Lestrade’s hand and the bed. He screamed something that sounded like Lestrade’s name before collapsing back on the bed.

Lestrade followed soon after, his orgasm hitting him with the force of a storm. He moaned loudly and called out Mycroft’s name along with “Oh, God!” a few times. He felt Mycroft’s muscles clamping down on him, milking him of his orgasm whether the Government Official knew it or not. Once he had pumped his way through to the end, he collapsed on top of Mycroft, panting heavily and starting to place lazy kisses on his lover’s chest.

“That was… amazing,” Mycroft muttered, panting as Lestrade kissed his chest. “Are you… alright?”

“Perfect,” Lestrade breathed back, nipping at Mycroft’s soft skin. “Yourself?”

“Fine.” 

Lestrade kissed the dip in Mycroft’s collar bone before rolling off his lover, closing his eyes and curling up closer. Before he knew it, he heard light breathing next to him, an obvious sign that Mycroft had fallen asleep. He let himself a small smile, not bothering to sit up and open his eyes to check if he was correct, but rather curled up closer, draped one arm over his lover’s chest, and slowly allowed himself to drift off as well.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> Sorry this took so long! I honestly don't know what happened to my beta person so I don't think this chapter has had a beta. I honestly can't remember. I wrote this chapter last year :p 
> 
> anyway, I hope you enjoy and please excuse any mistakes you may see. If you are interested in helping me beta the next chapters, let me know. 
> 
> Also, I decided to continue this story as one instead of breaking it into 3 parts like I planned. I just think it'll be nicer than having 3 different titles XD 
> 
> Enjoy  
> ~Blake

Lestrade stirred in his sleep as a loud coughing broke his slumber, slowly coming back to reality. He sat up in a slight haze and looked over at his lover, who was sitting – butt naked, mind you – on the edge of the bed, coughing up a storm. Lestrade snapped himself awake at once, quickly crawling over and placing a hand on Mycroft’s back, rubbing small circles on the skin. He sat down next to Mycroft, worry in his gaze as he watched his lover almost double over in an extremely bad, painful sounding cough. 

“Are you alright?” Lestrade asked as soon as Mycroft stopped the coughing, panting heavily. “Do you want some water?”

Mycroft could only nod as another coughing fit took him over. Lestrade stood and quickly made his way down to the kitchen, ignoring the chilled wind as it hit his bare skin. He got down a clean glass, filled it with water, and put the kettle on; figuring Mycroft may want some tea to soothe his throat in a bit. He made his way back up to the room, still hearing Mycroft’s fit as he ascended the stairs. Worry started to pull at his chest; was Mycroft getting sick?

“Here you are, love,” Lestrade said gently, handing Mycroft the glass of water and resuming his soothing circle rubs on Mycroft’s back as he retook his spot. 

Mycroft nodded his thanks and sipped from the water, his eyes were damp from all the coughing and his face was flushed a bright red. Lestrade continued the circles as Mycroft slowly drained the glass and set it on the night stand next to the bed. He stared as his lap, breathing deeply and trying to collect himself. 

“Let’s move you down to the couch,” Lestrade whispered, pressing a kiss to Mycroft’s forehead. “I’ll make you some tea, make sure you’re warm in a blanket, and call in to Anthea. You are _not_ going into work today, love.”

“B-but I have to!” Mycroft protested, turning his attention to Lestrade. He quickly ducked his head into the crook of his arm as another coughing fit took him over. “I’m… meeting with… an ambassador of… Turkey today…” He forced out through the coughs.

“Anthea can reschedule for you,” Lestrade said, his tone firm and set in stone, telling Mycroft that arguing with him was a losing battle. “You’re sick, or, at least, getting there. I want you home so we can stop whatever this is early.”

Mycroft sighed deeply, causing more coughing to come tickle his throat. “Fine,” he muttered, obviously unhappy. He stood, wobbling for a second before throwing out his hand to the bed post and steadying himself. Lestrade stood next to him, worried, and took Mycroft’s arm. 

“Come on, love,” Lestrade soothed, wrapping his arm around Mycroft’s waist and starting to lead him from the room. “Would you like honey in your tea to soothe your throat?”

“Please,” Mycroft muttered, his eyes closing slightly as they started down the stairs. His whole body just felt weak, which was a feeling that Mycroft Holmes, one of the most powerful men in the English Government, if not the world, hated – no, loathed. It was a relief when Lestrade finally helped him lay down on the couch and threw a blanket over him. Suddenly, he was cold. Very, very cold. He couldn’t stop the shivering and clutched the blanket closer to his body, trying to keep his body heat. 

“You poor guy,” Lestrade muttered, sitting at Mycroft’s feet. He placed a caring hand on Mycroft’s leg, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Would you like something to eat? Are you feeling well enough to do so?”

Mycroft just shook his head, pulling the blanket even tighter around him. “W-would it be too much trouble… to ask for another b-blanket?” 

“Of course not, love,” Lestrade soothed, pressing a kiss to Mycroft’s forehead before standing. “You’re warm, too. I’m going to take your temperature as well, alright, love?”

Mycroft nodded with a hum as Lestrade made his way from the room to fetch the needed items. He pulled the blanket from the foot of their bed and made his way down to the kitchen. Grabbing the kettle, he poured a quick cup of tea for Mycroft – he’d make one for himself after – and grabbed the thermometer, balancing the blanket on one arm. He made his way back out to the couch and set the tea cup and thermometer on the table. 

“Here you go, my love,” Lestrade said as he draped the blanket over his lover’s form, which was still shivering violently. “Can you open up so I can take your temperature?”

Mycroft opened his mouth just enough, Lestrade placing the thermometer under his tongue and holding it in place. Once the device beeped three times, he took it out and looked at the screen. “One-o-one,” he read out, his brow creasing with worry. “Here, here’s your tea with honey on the table. I’m going to go call John, see if he can come over and check you over, okay, love?”

“Okay. Thank you, love,” Mycroft murmured, his eyes closing as he sat up and reached to grab the mug. He sat back into the couch arm as Lestrade went off, sending a worried look at Mycroft over his shoulder, to call John. 

Lestrade moved into the kitchen and pulled his phone from where it sat on the counter. He dialed John’s number quickly, raising the device to his ear to listen to it ring. It rang three times before John picked up, his voice quiet and tired sounding. 

“’ello?” John groaned into the phone, trying to keep his voice down for his lover’s sake, whose arm was around his waist. John would have slithered out from bed and went into the next room, but Sherlock’s arm had him pinned down in the bed, and the warmth was just not something worth losing. 

“John? I’m sorry if I woke you,” Lestrade started, bothering at the collar of the t-shirt around his neck. “But Mycroft is very sick. Do you think you could come down here and look him over? Just make sure it’s nothing too bad, I’ve heard there are some nasty things going around right now…”

“Sure, Greg,” John murmured, running a hand over his eyes and forcing a small smile on his lips. “Give me half an hour?”

“Of course,” Lestrade nodded even though John couldn’t see it. “See you then.”

“See you then.”

Lestrade closed his phone and made his way back out to Mycroft, sitting down on the end of the couch near Mycroft’s calves. He placed a gentle hand on Mycroft’s hip and rubbed gentle, loving circles into the skin.

“How’s the tea, love?” Lestrade asked quietly, trying to force a smile onto his face to soothe the other man. “Is the honey helping at all?”

“Yeah,” Mycroft nodded, lowering the cup from his lips and giving Lestrade a very weak smile. “Thank you, by the way.”

“Don’t thank me,” Lestrade soothed, standing and moving to place a gentle kiss on Mycroft’s forehead. “I love you, Mycroft. Is there anything I can get for you? Would you like some soup or anything?”

“No,” Mycroft shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment at the kiss. “When is John coming?”

“Half an hour.”

“Is Sherlock?”

Lestrade thought for a moment, unsure if Sherlock would tag along for something so dull. “I don’t honestly know,” Lestrade admitted slowly. “I don’t think so.”

“Okay.”

Lestrade ran his hand through Mycroft’s slightly damp hair, the other man leaning – as best he could – into the touch. Lestrade took the empty mug from Mycroft and went into the kitchen to place it in the sink. He then took the smaller trash can from Mycroft’s office and a box of tissues, taking those out to Mycroft, just in case. He took another blanket and went over to the armchair that sat facing the couch, sitting down and wrapping himself up in the blanket. He watched Mycroft carefully for a long time; noting his breathing, the way his face had a small flush over it, the way he was slowly falling asleep. By the time Mycroft was snoozing lightly all curled up in the blanket, a knock came from the front door. It didn’t seem to stir Mycroft, but Lestrade stood and went to answer the door. John and Sherlock stood in the doorway, a pleasant smile on John’s face – despite the time – and a scowl on Sherlock’s. 

“Morning,” John said, his voice still hinting the tiredness he was, obviously, feeling. “Hope you don’t mind Sherlock came along.”

“Not at all, come on in you two,” Lestrade said, stepping back. 

As John and Sherlock entered the house, Lestrade turned to close the door, only to have something make him freeze in his motions. He turned to John and Sherlock and stared at them, his mouth open. 

“Oh God, Lestrade what could possibly be wrong now?” Sherlock snapped, catching the stares. 

“You guys… you’re…” A smile broke across Lestrade’s face as he stumbled for words. “You’re holding hands. How long?” 

Sherlock tisked and rolled his eyes as John’s smile widened. He pulled Sherlock closer by the hand and leaned his head against Sherlock’s shoulder, smiling. “Six months now,” John said, turning and beaming up at Sherlock, the other man looking down at his doctor over his nose with no real emotion noticeable. “This one is still shy about it, but I’m not afraid to admit it.”

“I’m not _afraid_ ,” Sherlock growled, spitting out the word as though it offended him. 

“Is that why you told me, and I quote, “whatever you do, don’t tell Mycroft,” love?” John asked, a devilish smile blooming across his face as pure hate flashed across Sherlock’s. “I believe you said something about the jokes he’d make?” 

“Shut up,” Sherlock snapped, his cheeks flushing lightly. Lestrade chuckled lightly as he watched the apparent couple. 

“You two are cute together,” Lestrade chuckled, patting Sherlock on the shoulder and closing the front door. Man, if glares could kill…

Lestrade turned his attention to John, who was still curled up on Sherlock’s side. “Would you mind coming and taking a look at Mycroft, John? He seems really sick,” Lestrade said, slipping back into his worried-boyfriend mode. 

“Of course, lead the way,” John beamed. Lestrade started off to the living room, hearing a quite, “Behave yourself,” from John, obviously to Sherlock, who huffed. 

Lestrade lead the men into the sitting room where Mycroft lay on the couch, still asleep. He went over and placed a careful hand on Mycroft’s shoulder, giving him a small shake to get him to open his eyes. 

“Yeah, love?” Mycroft murmured as he blinked up at his lover. His eyes slowly cast over to John and Sherlock, John going back to curling up on Sherlock’s side. “See you two finally figured it out. When?” Mycroft couldn’t help the weak smile that turned the corners of his mouth. 

“He’s fine, let’s go, John,” Sherlock growled, shooting a glare at his brother. Again, if glares could kill…

“Sherlock,” John sighed, grabbing his lover’s hand before he could make his escape. “He’s your brother and he’s sick, show a little concern, will you?”

Sherlock crossed his arms and pouted, keeping his eyes fixed on the side wall. John leaned up and pecked him on the cheek quickly, Sherlock blushing but visibly relaxing at the motion. Lestrade could only smile at the two of them as John uncurled from Sherlock and came over to Mycroft. He set his doctor’s bag down on the floor and knelt down next to Mycroft. He quickly and efficiently went through the check up - looking over his features, taking his temperature, listening to his heart – and made sure he noted everything in his mind. When he was done, he sat back on his heels and stood, turning to Lestrade. 

“I’m afraid he has Bronchitis,” John said placing a stethoscope around his shoulders. “I do have a box of the pills, luckily, with me. He should take two today, and then one for the last five days, all of the instructions are also on the inside of the box. After that, I’d give it a week and it should be mostly gone, but the cough may still hang around a while longer.” He handed Lestrade a small box from his medical bag, who took it and set it on the table next to Mycroft with a nod.

“Alright. Should he stay home from work for this week or what?” Lestrade asked, giving Mycroft a stern glare when it looked like the other man was going to try to protest. 

“Yes, that would be best. It will help get rid of it faster, plus his body needs rest,” John said, turning to Mycroft. “I think you could push back your meetings and such, don’t you?”

Mycroft looked like he was going to protest, which he was, but he stopped himself at Lestrade’s look of a mixture of worry and a stern glare. He sighed and nodded. “Yes, I can push everything back,” he muttered.

“Good,” John smiled. “You also might find he’ll lose his voice sometime this week. Don’t worry, that’s normal. Call me back though if things don’t seem to get better by the end of the week.”

“Alright, I will,” Lestrade nodded, leading John and Sherlock to the door. “You two take care now.” He sent the two of them a knowing smile before shutting the door on Sherlock’s grimacing face. 

Lestrade moved back into the sitting room, picking up the box of pills and popping the first two out of their packets. “I’m going to go grab you a cup of water for you to take these, then I’m going to call Anthea and tell her to reschedule your appointments for the next week and a half,” Lestrade said, running his hand through Mycroft’s hair. “I want you to stay home a little longer than a week, just in case, love, alright?”

Mycroft sighed and nodded, too tired to argue. His body was giving out on him in order to fight the infection and it left him tired and achy. He shifted slightly to get deeper under the covers, the chills taking him over again and the shivers attacking his body. He hated feeling so useless and weak, it wasn’t him. It wasn’t who he was. It wasn’t who he needed to be.

Lestrade took a glass from the counter next to the sink, knowing it was clean. He filled it with water from the tap and picked up his phone. He typed in Anthea’s number in the little box provided and typed out a quick message to her. 

_Mycroft’s sick. He needs a week and a half off of work to recover and we need you to push all his appointments back till he can come back to the office. –GL_

_Can do. What has he come down with? –Anthea_

_Bronchitis. John just gave him medicine for it, which I should give him now. –GL_

_Alright, wish him my best. –Anthea_

_Can do. Bye. –GL_

Lestrade set down his phone and picked up the glass with the water. He went back out to the living room and sat down on the edge of the table, handing Mycroft the two pills and the water. “How are you feeling, love? Hot at all? Cold? Tired?” Lestrade asked, watching as Mycroft sat up a little and took the glass along with the pills, downing both slowly.

“Tired, achy, weak,” Mycroft muttered, polishing off the water and letting Lestrade take the glass from him. “I hate this…”

“I do, too, love,” Lestrade muttered, getting down on his knee next to Mycroft and running his hand through the other man’s hair, resting his chin and arm on the couch. “Believe me, if I could, I would take this so you wouldn’t have to.”

“Thanks, love,” Mycroft muttered, a small smile caressing his lips. “But you can’t.”

“I know, but I wish I could,” Lestrade said, watching as his lover moved back down to get deeper into the blankets. “Believe me; if I could I would in a heartbeat.”

“I know,” Mycroft whispered, yawning. “I’m going to try to sleep some more, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not, love. You sleep all you need to. I’m going to run to the store to get a few things, but I’ll get your phone so you can call me if you need me,” Lestrade smiled lightly, standing and placing a kiss to his lover’s head. 

“Thanks,” Mycroft yawned before his breathing evened out and he was fast asleep. Lestrade smiled sadly down at his lover, standing over him and pushing his hands into his pockets. He stood there for a few minutes before moving to go upstairs. He took Mycroft’s phone and his coat from their room and went back down to where Mycroft was. He placed the phone on the table next to Mycroft, moving the glass top closer so Mycroft could reach it easier in case he needed to call the DI. He then shrugged his coat on, placed one last kiss to Mycroft’s forehead and ran his fingers through his hair. 

“I’ll be right back, love,” he muttered before he started towards the door. He collected his wallet and keys, opened the door and shut it silently behind him, locking it while making a mental list of things he needed at the store.


	9. Chapter 9

Lestrade set the bags down on the table in the kitchen to free up his arms before going back into the living room to check on Mycroft. It had been two hours since Lestrade had been home, having to go to the store and do the shopping. Mycroft had shifted slightly, the blankets twisted around his stomach and legs. He was sweating, his hair plastered to his face. Lestrade sighed sadly, going back into the kitchen and dampening a cloth before heading back in to where Mycroft was now turning in his sleep, his face screwed up in pain or fear.

 

Lestrade went over to his lover and knelt down next to him, placing his hands on his shoulders to stop him from thrashing around, Lestrade waited until Mycroft calmed down. He placed the cold cloth on his lover’s forehead, shaking him gently with his free hand.

 

“Love?” he asked, shaking him a little harder. “Love? Please open your eyes. Come on, love.”

 

Mycroft grunted in his sleep, his eyes squeezed shut as he shifted under Lestrade’s hand. He shifted for a few more minutes, his breath becoming increasingly shallow, until he was panting and thrashing about once again. One of his fists collided with Lestrade’s nose with a sickening crunch and he fell back with a loud yelp. His hand flew up to cover his nose as Mycroft finally settled on the couch facing his direction. His eyes fluttered open to look at Lestrade and his face instantly paled.

 

“Love? Are you okay?” he asked quietly. Lestrade pulled his hand away from his face and saw it covered in the velvet red blood. He moaned to himself, rolling his eyes as he stood and started towards the kitchen. “Love?”

 

Lestrade waved him off and rushed into the kitchen, grabbing the rag from the counter next to the sink. He pressed it against his nose and closed his eyes, taking a few deep, calming breaths. Lestrade leaned heavily against the counter, his eyes closing as he waited for the blood to stop. _Mycroft didn’t mean to,_ he reminded himself as he felt the towel grow damp in his hands. _He was asleep, he had no idea what he was doing._ Thoughts rolled through his mind as he tried to stop the blood from continuing to flow down from his nose. What had Mycroft been dreaming about anyway? What made him lash out?

 

“Love?” a weak voice asked from the doorway. Lestrade turned to the door to see Mycroft leaning heavily on the doorframe. His hands gripped the wood for all it was worth and his face was paler then it had been before.

 

“Mycroft, what are you doing up?” Lestrade scolded, pulling the rag to check it again. “You shouldn’t be up at all, you look bloody awful.”

 

“I-I wanted to make sure… y-you were oka-“ Mycroft stuttered out, his body shaking from the weakness in his legs. He fell forward to his hands and knees and coughed roughly, his breathing a dry, desperate wheezing between the coughs. Lestrade dropped the towel and quickly went to Mycroft’s side, placing his non-bloody hand on his lover’s back.

 

“I’m fine, love,” he whispered, knowing there wasn’t much he could do but wait for this couch-attack to pass. “Do you want some water? Or some tea?” Mycroft nodded and Lestrade quickly got him a glass of water, helping the other man to sit down against the kitchen wall. He went to put the kettle on before joining his lover and rubbing small circles over the man’s back.

 

Mycroft’s coughing fit stopped for a while, allowing him to take some deep, much needed breaths. He took the water Lestrade had for him and drank it slowly, not wanting to chug it and risk another attack earlier then necessary. Lestrade had his arm around Mycroft’s shoulders by now, just holding the man close to him. He whispered soothing words into his ear, kissing the shell as Mycroft drank the water. A drop of blood landed in Lestrade’s lap and he sighed heavily, raising a hand back up to his nose, where he felt a heavy stream of the velvet liquid running down his face.

 

“I must look great,” he muttered, pressing his hand to his nose again as he stood to grab the towel. As he did, Mycroft started coughing again, doubling over and trying to drag in air. Lestrade sat back with Mycroft, the rag pressed to his lip. “You’re okay, love,” he whispered, rubbing his free hand up and down Mycroft’s back. “I’m here, you’re okay.”

 

“We’re… quiet a… couple… huh?” Mycroft asked between breaths, managing a small smile onto his lips.

 

“You mean between my bloody nose and your… illness?” Lestrade asked, leaning closer to his lover and wrapping his arm over Mycroft’s shoulders. “I can agree to that. But things will get better soon, love.”

 

Mycroft nodded and leaned his head on Lestrade’s shoulder, struggling for breath as he did so. “I sure… hope so…” he panted. “I can’t take… this for… too long…”

 

“I know, love. But I’ll be here to help. As soon as my nose stops bleeding, I’ll help you back to the couch. You need to rest,” Lestrade whispered, resting his head on Mycroft’s and sighing. Mycroft nodded and closed his eyes, letting his senses fill with the smell of Lestrade’s shampoo and the slight ting of blood that covered the man’s face and towel.

 

Lestrade shifted the towel to press a – still surprisingly clean – spot of the rag to his lip, hoping the blood stopped soon. That was the only down side he had about when this happened, he bled a lot and quickly, and it didn’t stop for a good ten minutes. It was annoying and in his line of work, he got a lot of nose bleeds. He always hated it.

 

“Sorry,” Mycroft muttered, snapping Lestrade from his thoughts.

 

“For what?”

 

“Punching you,” Mycroft sighed. “If I knew… it was you… you know I wouldn’t… have tried to hurt you…”

 

“I know, my love,” Lestrade discarded it with a wave of his hand. “What were you dreaming about, anyways? You were thrashing about way before you punched me, where you okay?”

 

“I was fine,” Mycroft said, his voice a little steadier now that his breath was back. “It was just a bad dream, I guess.”

 

“About what, love?”

 

“It was-“ Mycroft paused and sighed, shutting his eyes. “I dreamt you didn’t come back from a case. You were out trying to track down one of my men after getting a lead that he had killed some CEO or something of that nature. You were about to corner him and you had your gun out; I was running towards you guys and calling out for you to stop, knowing my man didn’t know who you were and wasn’t going to hesitate to shoot you. You didn’t seem to hear me as you stepped around the corner, your gun raised at the man you had cornered. You pulled the trigger first but your gun only clicked, nothing happening. It was then he shot you… By that time, I had reached your body and was holding you in my arms; and I was forced to watch the light leave your eyes.”

 

Lestrade stayed quiet for a long moment, watching Mycroft’s eyes as they skillfully avoided his own. He could see that Mycroft felt guilty about what happened, even if it was just a dream. Moving slowly, Lestrade wrapped his free arm around Mycroft’ shoulders and brought him to his chest, holding him gently and pressing a careful kiss to his temple.

 

“Love, you can’t feel bad for something that happened in a dream-“

 

“Greg, my mind created that scene! It never does that sort of thing; I’m always so in control of my mind. Why did I dream about watching you die in my arms?” Mycroft asked, sitting up to look Lestrade in the eyes. “Why did I dream about losing you?”

“I don’t know, love,” Lestrade whispered, watching Mycroft’s eyes back. “But that’s not going to happen, okay? I’m always going to be here and I’m not leaving you any time soon. We’re going to be together for a long time, okay? Nothing can pull us apart.”

 

“But what if-“

 

“Nothing, Mycroft,” Lestrade cut him off, giving his shoulders a squeeze. “I’m not leaving you, not for anything.”

 

Mycroft was silent for a long while, his eyes searching Lestrade’s. He could see the truth behind the words, how much he actually meant them. He saw the promises and most of all; he saw the love that the other man felt towards him. It was a look he had grown used to seeing from Lestrade, but somehow, this time felt different. This time, it ran deeper and truer than all the other times that look had coated Lestrade’s deep blue eyes. Mycroft nodded slowly, not losing his eye contact with Lestrade.

 

“I’m not going anywhere, either, love,” Mycroft promised, leaning up to peck Lestrade on the forehead. “I have no desire to leave you behind.”

 

“I’m glad,” Lestrade smiled. He turned away to pull the rag away and noticed the bleeding had, not stopped, but at least slowed to a slow trickle. He sighed, realizing this was as good as it was going to get at the time and that he needed to get Mycroft off the cold floor. “Come on, love,” he whispered, flinging the towel over the back of a nearby chair. “We should get you back on the couch, and then I’ll make you a nice bowl of broth. I bought chicken to make chicken noodle soup for dinner; my mom taught me a great way of making it, nice and slowly so the chicken would just fall apart.”

 

Lestrade stood and held his hand out to Mycroft, who took it and stood shakily. “Sounds great, love,” Mycroft said, forcing a small, weak smile on his face when he was finally standing and leaning on Lestrade. “Can’t wait to try it.”

 

“Nor can I, it’ll be the first time I’ve used one of my mother’s recipes since she passed away twenty years ago,” Lestrade smiled, leading his lover to the living room and sitting him down on the couch.

 

Mycroft lay down on the couch, stretching out and letting Lestrade pull the blankets up to his waist. “I’m sorry, love,” Mycroft frowned. “But I’m glad I can share the memories with you when they mean that much to you.”

 

“There’s no one else I’d want to share them with,” Lestrade laughed, cupping the side of Mycroft’s face. “I’m going to go get you you’re broth. I’ll be right back.” He ran his thumb over Mycroft’s cheek bone before going back to the kitchen. He wiped his nose on a paper towel to get the small amount of blood that had began to run down his upper lip and threw that away, moving over to the cabinet where the bags were still sitting on the counter. He quickly put the cold stuff away before it could melt any more than it already had, then went back to the bags to dig for a can of the broth he had bought. He poured the contents from the can to a bowl and pushed it into the microwave, pressing a few buttons to start it up.

 

He turned to the kettle that had started whistling on the stove and went over to pick it off and make them both a cup of tea. He made himself a sandwich to go with it and piled both the plate and the two cups of tea on a tray. He placed napkins and a spoon on the tray as well before the microwave beeped in that high pitch. He retrieved the bowl and placed it on the tray, picking it up and carrying it back out to Mycroft. He set it on the coffee table and turned to his lover, who was blinking up at Lestrade. Lestrade bent down next to Mycroft to kneel beside him and caressed his cheek with a light touch along his jaw.

 

“How are you feeling, love?” he muttered, continuing the caress.

 

“Not as tired,” Mycroft murmured, leaning into the touch. “But otherwise, about the same.”

 

“I’m sorry, love,” Lestrade frowned. “Listen, I want you to sit up. You have to try to put something into your stomach. I have tea and a bowl of warm broth for you, just to see if you can stomach that first. Can you sit up?”

 

Mycroft nodded and forced himself, slowly, into a sitting position. He gave Lestrade a weak smile as Lestrade turned and took the tray in his hands. He sat down next to Mycroft and set the tray on his lap, taking his sandwich and tea and placing the cup on the table. He kept his sandwich in his lap and waited for Mycroft to take a bit first; wanting to make sure he could stomach the liquid.

 

Mycroft took the spoon with a shaky hand and lifted a bit of the broth to his lips, sipping it with a very unprofessional slurp. At the moment, with only Lestrade in the room and in his current state, he honestly couldn’t give a damn of the noise. He continued to ladle shaky bits of the liquid to his lips, sipping it and letting the warmth trace his spine. He heard Lestrade eating next to him and speared a glance at the man.

 

“Thank you,” he said, Lestrade turning to face him with a caring smile.

 

“Of course, my love,” he whispered back, placing his sandwich back on the plate. “Is that going to be enough for you?”

 

“More than enough,” Mycroft muttered, shaking his head. “Especially if we’re having that soup later. I can’t eat all of this.”

 

“I’ll put it in the fridge when you’re done for tomorrow, if you want,” Lestrade said, placing a small kiss on the side of Mycroft’s cheek.

 

Mycroft hummed and nodded when Lestrade pulled away, lifting another sip to his lips. They continued to eat in silence, both men sipping their tea and eating slowly. Mycroft knew he was going to be well cared for. And even though he hated being this weak and away from control of his body, maybe being sick wouldn’t be that bad, seeing if Lestrade was going to be the one by his side.


	10. Chapter 10

Sherlock paced the floor of the flat while waiting for John to come back up, him still down stairs paying the cabbie. He turned smartly on his heels when he heard the door shut and faced a tired looking John.

“There’s something wrong with Mycroft,” Sherlock stated just as John put his medical bag down on the coffee table.

“No shit, Sherlock,” John muttered, sending his lover a glare. “That’s what we were just over there for, remember?”

“No, John, I mean more than Bronchitis,” Sherlock rolled his eyes, stepping closer to his doctor. “Are you sure that was all it was?”

“Yes, Sherlock, I’m sure. Mycroft is fine other wise. You’re just panicking.”

“Why would I panic over Mycroft’s health? I’m telling you, John, you didn’t see something because it’s something more than Bronchitis!”

“It’s not, Sherlock. Now please, come up to bed with me. I’m tired and want to sleep,” John said, taking Sherlock’s hand in his and pulling him towards the bedroom. “I know it’s early, but I didn’t sleep well last night, come on.”

Sherlock huffed and rolled his eyes. “Why do I have to come with you if you’re the one who didn’t sleep well?”

“Because I might have something I need you for before we sleep,” John whispered, Sherlock’s eyes snapping to his. “I need your help, Sherlock.”

Sherlock hummed as John rubbed his beginning of an erection against his hip, John leaning up to nibble on Sherlock’s neck gently. John’s hand sneaked around Sherlock’s waist, cupping one side of his butt playfully. He squeezed it and worked it with his hand as he traced Sherlock’s cheek bone with his thumb. Sherlock hummed and leaned farther into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed. “Damn you, John,” Sherlock muttered, his voice gravelly. “How do you do that?”

“Secret,” John chuckled back, kissing Sherlock’s neck just below the ear. He sucked on the pulse point, running his teeth over the skin. “Now come on, I need help here, Sherlock.”

“Go,” Sherlock growled, smacking John in the butt and pushing him to the bedroom. John dashed away from Sherlock and he soon followed, chasing after him as John laughed at him over his shoulder.

“Come on, love!” John called back, dashing into his own bedroom upstairs, Sherlock soon following him. They jumped onto the bed together, John rolling them over so he was on top and pressing down on Sherlock. He ground his hips into the detective, chuckling as Sherlock growled deep in his throat.

“I thought I was supposed to be helping you,” Sherlock growled, working his teeth over the soft skin of John’s neck. “Why am I on the bottom?”

“Because it’s easier to grind down on you,” John growled back, kissing Sherlock’s jaw and working his way up to his ear, sucking the lobe in between his teeth. “And you feel so good when I do that.”

Sherlock hummed and chuckled lightly as John worked his ear, sucking and teething at the skin playfully. Sherlock’s hands ran down John’s body, going down to cup John’s butt and squeeze the cheeks, working his way to towards the middle until he was running his fingers over the entrance through the fabric of John’s pants. John moaned loudly into Sherlock’s ear, his teeth finally releasing the lobe and letting Sherlock have the room he needed to reach around and kiss John. He kept it slow and teasing, pulling back to adjust the angel of the kiss whenever it threatened to become deeper then it was. John’s tongue brushed Sherlock’s lips in a silent plea and Sherlock let his tongue snake out to meet John’s.

It was a dance, really, between the two of them as their tongues circled each other. Neither of them fought for dominance, it was just a simple caress of tongue and lips. John’s hands were running down Sherlock’s body, slowly making work of the buttons on his shirt until he was able to gently slide the fabric over Sherlock’s shoulders. Sherlock sat up enough that John could slide the fabric over Sherlock’s shoulders and throw it on the floor behind them.

Sherlock relaxed back into the pillows behind him, running his hands up John’s shirt to touch the soft stomach John supported. He gave it a gentle squeeze, smiling up at him, before he continued to drag his hands up, John’s shirt following. John raised his hands above his head and Sherlock worked the fabric up his arms. John subconsciously sucked the bit of stomach that hung out over his belt in as his shirt was thrown to the side. Sherlock tisked and leaned up to kiss John’s middle.

“Don’t hide, love,” he whispered, his hands falling to John’s hips. “You don’t have to.”

John nodded and took in a breath, his stomach hugging the waist line of his trousers tightly, hanging out an inch or so. “Not a word,” he growled, leaning down to nip at Sherlock’s neck.

“Not one,” Sherlock whispered back. He didn’t mind John had a bit of a middle to him. He had grown up in a chubbier family, his mother and Mycroft both being a bit on the rounder side most of his life. It was comforting to him to be able to wrap his arms around a softer middle and just hold John close. It reminded him of his childhood, even after his mother died.

She had died when Sherlock was only five, having lost the battle to breast cancer. His father had left them soon after, leaving them to be raised by their awful grandmother. Mycroft had been the only support for him at that time, his grandmother calling him a “good for nothing worthless brat.” When Mycroft was sent to Uni at the age of eighteen, a ten year old Sherlock was left alone with the god awful woman. Needless to say, he was beaten and insulted by the woman and then poked fun at by the kids at his school. They laughed at him for all the bruises and cuts he always supported, and he always ended up crying in the bathroom or the corner of the football field. That’s when he started cutting himself off from the rest of the world. He locked himself in his room when he was home, only eating when everyone else was asleep, and started doing the same thing to his emotions. 

Sadly, to him, cutting himself off meant pushing the only support he ever had away as well. That summer, when Mycroft came back from Uni for the first time, he found a very unhappy, beaten Sherlock sending glares at him and flicking him off. He found Sherlock wouldn't talk to him except for the times he'd shoot off smart ass remarks and comments, leaving Mycroft to wonder what he had done. Sherlock knew he was upsetting Mycroft, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He had left him alone to be beaten and insulted both at home and at school, and that was something Sherlock couldn't forgive him for. 

John let his breath out and his stomach fell down a few inches over his belt. He blushed deeply and then turned an even deeper shade of red when he realized Sherlock had zoned out staring right at it. 

"L-love?" John muttered, his self-consciousness telling him just to flea right then and there. 

"Hummm?" Sherlock asked, shaking his head and forcing his eyes up to meet John's. "Oh, sorry, I was just thinking. Don't leave, love. You're not fat."

"Don't lie," John murmured, leaning over to kiss Sherlock's neck and flinching when his stomach expanded outward as he folded. 

"I'm not lying," Sherlock promised, running his hands up to John's middle and squeezing his sides together at his stomach. "I like you this way. You look fine."

"You like me fat?" John asked as he worked the skin on Sherlock's neck. 

"Not fat, John; just not like a stick. Not like me." Sherlock pulled John down so his body was flat against his and kissed him on the cheek. "I grew up with people who weren't skinny like myself, so you having a little bit of a belly comforts me. It... reminds me of my mother."

John leaned up so he could look Sherlock in his eyes. Did Sherlock even like his mother? They never really talked about their families except for the siblings that always seemed to be bothering them about one thing or another. Was his mother even alive anymore? Would she approve of him dating another man? Did it even matter?

"No, John, she's not alive anymore," Sherlock said, breaking John of his thoughts. "Believe it or not; she, Mycroft, and myself used to be very close to one another. I was five when she passed away and half a year later, my father left us. Our grandmother raised us; she always hated us too. Then when Mycroft left, grandmother beat me."

"Is that why you always seem to hate Mycroft?" John asked, the pieces finally coming together. 

"I can never forgive him for leaving me alone with that sinful woman. He knew she would beat me if he wasn't there, but he left anyway. He didn't even try to find a different place for me to live, or another way to go to school. He just left and let her abuse me."

"Sherlock... I'm so sorry," John whispered, kissing Sherlock on the lips gently. "I never knew..."

"I never told you," Sherlock shrugged. "It's fine, John. It's not as if it is your fault that bastard left me the way he did."

John frowned and leaned down to kiss Sherlock deeper, running his hands down his sides and pressing his hips down onto Sherlock's. He moved his hips slightly, grinding down on the other man and getting him to groan. "Let's make you forget him, shall we?" John asked as Sherlock's arms tightened around his waist. "Mycroft isn't important right now."

Sherlock nodded and let his hands get between himself and John, making quick work of John's pants button. He pushed both the pants and the boxers down around John's hips and waited for the other man to kick them off. Once he heard the soft thump of John's clothes hitting the floor, Sherlock twisted his body and rolled them over so he was on top. John moaned in surprise and Sherlock just smiled down at him, kissing him slowly. 

"Love," John whispered, bucking his hips up into Sherlock's and slipping a hand between them to get Sherlock undressed as well. "Need you. Come on."

Sherlock nodded and lifted his hips enough so John could work the button open and push his pants down. Sherlock kicked them off and laid back down on top of John's body, kissing his cheek. 

"What do you want me to do?" he asked, rolling his hips against John's and watching his lover's eyes flutter closed. 

"Nhhh," John moaned, his face heating in a blush from the pleasure. "Touch me..."

Sherlock smiled with a light kiss to John's lips before he reached across to the bedside table and pulled the drawer open. He found the bottle of lube, poured a good amount onto his fingers and slid the first one between John's cheeks. He circled the entrance a few times until John was bucking down, then he slipped the first finger into the tight hole. He heard John moan quietly as he pulled his finger back and pushed it back in again. He continued a slow rhythm as he fingered John's entrance, stretching him slowly. 

"You feel so tight and warm," Sherlock whispered, pressing a kiss to John's jaw. "So good."

"You're... amazing... Sherlock," John whispered back, panting slightly. "Don't... stop..."

"Not planning on it," Sherlock smirked as he slipped in another finger, John withering beneath him. He spread the fingers apart while he pumped, John bucking his hips up as he did so. "That's it, love. Keep moving. Keep begging for me."

"Sherlock, please," John panted. "Please... more. More, Sherlock."

"You want more?"

"Yes."

"Than show me that you're worthy to get more," Sherlock smiled, his voice gravely. "Show me I should reward you."

"I've created a... a monster," John snickered, a smirk on his lips as he bucked his hips up again. "S-Sherlock, please... What do I need to do?"

"Beg for me, love," Sherlock whispered, using his free hand to go between John's legs and cup his balls, palming them gently. "I want you withering beneath me, begging."

John settled down into the mattress as Sherlock's hands worked between his legs. Small noises and moans escaped his lips as his eyes fluttered closed. "Sherlock," he moaned, breathing turning into pants. "Sherlock, please. I want you deeper inside me. I want to feel you against my prostate, I want your hand to work me as you pound me into the mattress. I want you to make it so I can't walk easily for weeks."

Sherlock's smile turned predator-like while he listened to John beg. He pushed in two more fingers, making John yelp in the sudden pain, and climbed farther on top of the doctor then he always way. He pulled the fingers out just so the tips were in then shoved them back in, repeating this process until John was bucking and sweaty. 

"You look so beautiful like this," Sherlock whispered directly into John's ear, making the doctor shiver. "I love watching you fall apart. I love knowing that I'm the one making you fall apart."

"Sh-Sherlock-" John's sentence was cut off as Sherlock pulled his fingers all the way out and shoved all five back in. John's mouth fell open in a silent scream and he whimpered pathetically. "God... y-yes!"

Sherlock shifted his hips slightly and pulled his fingers out, not wasting a beat to shove his member into John's tight, wet hole. Sherlock groaned loudly and bit down on John's neck, the other man shuttering and moaning loudly. 

Moving his hips in a slow pace, Sherlock snapped forward in order to keep John open and worked perfectly like he was. "I want to watch you come," he whispered to John, his hand going down to pump John's member. "I want you to make a mess of the both of us."

John nodded with a strangled sound, the pleasure pooling in his stomach. "Will... soon," he managed out, smiling up at Sherlock. 

Sherlock leaned down to press his lips to John's, keeping the kiss passionate and deep. He picked the rate of his hips up, slamming his member all the way in and angling it so he would hit his prostate with each thrust forward. After a few more perfectly angled thrusts, John shouted Sherlock's name to the ceiling as came all over Sherlock's hand. It didn't take long after that for Sherlock to follow him over the edge and still inside John, coming deep into him.

"L-love," John breathed, pulling his lover down to him by the shoulders. "You're amazing."

"I love you, John," Sherlock whispered, pressing kisses to the corner of John's mouth. He pulled himself out and rolled over to lay next to John on the bed, pulling the doctor to his chest. "You need sleep now, I'll be here."

John nodded and cuddled closer to Sherlock's chest. He closed his eyes and let his breathing even out, letting himself fall asleep in Sherlock's arms.


	11. Chapter 11

A week later, Mycroft was back up on his feet. Lestrade had insisted that he stay home for another few days, just to make sure whatever he had was gone, but that didn't stop the Government Official from cleaning the house the few hours Lestrade was out. 

"Baby, I told you to leave those for me," Lestrade said, frowning as he walked into the kitchen to find Mycroft doing the dishes. "You should be relaxing, not cleaning."

"I wanted to do them," Mycroft argued, sending a small smile in Lestrade's direction. "I don't want you doing all the work and overwork yourself, hun."

"Can I at least dry?" Lestrade asked as he set the groceries he had bought on the counter. He moved over to stand next to Mycroft, not waiting for an answer, and picked up the dish rag next to the sink. Mycroft handed him a plate and he started drying it. 

"We should do this together more often," Mycroft said, smiling at the DI. 

"Why's that?"

"Don't know. Just feels more... homey, I guess. Closer," Mycroft shrugged, handing Lestrade another bowl. 

"I always picture this as something the husband and wife do together, you know?" Lestrade chuckled, putting away the plate and taking the bowl Mycroft held out to him. "I don't know why."

"No, but that's it. I feel that way too. Though I'm glad it's you that's next to me and not some wife I picked up along the way," Mycroft said, leaning up to peck Lestrade on the cheek. "You're much better."

Lestrade chuckled and pecked Mycroft back. "You are too, love." The silence dragged on for a while, the two of them just doing the dishes until Lestrade broke it again. "Have you ever thought about it?"

"Humm?" Mycroft asked, handing the DI another plate. 

"You know... Getting married to me?" Lestrade's head snapped to Mycroft as a crash of breaking glass sounded next to him. "Mycroft?!"

Mycroft's eyes were wide and staring at the DI. They didn't look mad, but they were round and - if Lestrade didn't know better - fearful. "I-I..." he muttered, blushing a deep red. "I have, yes."

"And, judging by that reaction, you didn't really like the idea," Lestrade muttered, turning back to the dishes. Apparently the DI and the Government Official had two very different ideas on marriage to each other. Lestrade always pictured what it'd be like, and he always liked the idea of seeing Mycroft with a little gold band on his finger, labeling him as Lestade's. But, apparently, Mycroft didn't want anything like that.

"No, love, it's not that," Mycroft argued, frowning at the DI. "Actually, I've been able to think of many possible positive outcomes. It's just... Remember our first night at the bar?"

Lestrade swallowed hard as he thought back to that day. The day he insulted the Government Official and got him mad at him. The same day his wife had told him about the divorce. That day had been awful, the worst he had in years - besides the day he had signed the papers of the divorce, that was up there. He nodded, not trusting his voice at the moment. 

"I don't want to hurt you like your ex did. When I saw you that night, that depressed, Greg, my heart broke. I felt bad I couldn't do much more for you. I don't want to mess up and leave you with that kind of pain," Mycroft muttered, his teeth running over his bottom lip. "I could never live with myself if I knew I did that to you."

"You won't," Lestrade argued, setting down the rag and the dish he was drying to turn and wrap his arms around his boyfriend. "You won't hurt me, Mycroft. We work so well together and we always talk things out. If you do hurt me, we wouldn't get a divorce, no, we would talk and work things out like we do every time."

"Greg, I just don't think I'm ready to get married," Mycroft muttered, a blush coloring his cheeks pink. "But when I am, you'll defiantly be the one I want. I just... have to prepare myself for that sort of thing."

"Love, I understand. Getting married is a big thing," Lestrade nodded, pecking his boyfriend on the cheek. "I don't want you worried. In fact, how about this; it's all on you. You'll be the one to propose to me when the time is ready. That way you can do it when you feel you've had enough time and you don't have to worry every time I drop down to my knee to tie my shoe."

Mycroft couldn't help but laugh at that. He nodded and leaned forward to capture Lestrade's lips, smiling into the kiss. "Sounds like a deal," he chuckled. "But be warned; I'll be wanting to do it big so you'll always remember that moment I do decide to ask you."

"I'll remember it regardless," Lestrade smiled and kissed Mycroft again. "Now come on, love. We have to finish the dishes."

Mycroft nodded and unwound himself from his boyfriend, turning back to the lot of broken glass in the sink. "Damn it," he muttered, reaching in and starting to collect the glass in his hand. 

"Be careful, love," Lestrade muttered, going over to retrieve the trash can for Mycroft to dump the shards into. "Don't hurt yourself now."

"I won't, I won't."

Mycroft finished dumping the last of the glass into the bin and moved the object back over to it's spot in the kitchen. He pecked Lestrade on the cheek as he passed to go back to the pile of dishes and pick another one up, starting to wash it. 

\----------

It was around midnight, neither of them had been able to drift off to sleep and decided, since neither had work the next day, that a better use of their time would be to go downstairs and cuddle in front of a movie neither man knew the name of. Mycroft was leaning back into Lestrade's chest who had his arms wrapped around the younger man's waist. One hand was absently stroking Mycroft's curls, an action that became normal when the two just wanted to cuddle. Mycroft's hands rested on Lestrade's and his head was rested against Lestrade's chest. 

"Baby?" Mycroft asked softly after half the movie was over and commercials were playing. He reached down to the remote and muted the ads before shifting in Lestrade's arms to be able to look at the man.

"What is it, love?"

"Have you... ever wanted kids?" the Government Official asked, his eyes meeting Lestrade's. "You know, have you ever thought about raising them with me?"

"What brought this on, baby?" Lestrade asked, lifting his hand to continue petting Mycroft's hair. 

"I was just wondering," Mycroft blushed lightly. "I mean, I never heard you say anything about having a kid, which suggests you never had one with one of your past wives, yet I've never heard you talk about not wanting them... I just want to know because I'm curious if you thought you couldn't have them because you have me."

"Yeah, I want a kid; maybe two," Lestrade shrugged. "But in all honesty, I dismissed the idea because I thought you'd be completely against the idea. You just don't seem like a kids person and I thought you'd laugh at the idea. I've always thought you'd make a great father, Mycroft, don't get me wrong; I just want what will make both of us happy. If that means we don't have kids in time, as long as I still have you, I'll be happy."

Mycroft thought about this for a while, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "Well," he finally said. "I know you'd make an amazing father, Greg; you have the natural instinct, you know? I don't think the child would like me all that much, but other than that, I'd like to have a kid to raise with you. Maybe a little boy. But I want to be married to you first, and we talked about this earlier. So after I propose to you - whenever that may be - I want to sit down and have a serious talk about a child. Can we do that?"

Lestrade nodded and leaned forward to catch Mycroft's lips with his. "I love you," he whispered, smiling against Mycroft's lips. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me, love," Mycroft chuckled back. "I love you too, which is why I'm willing to do it."

Lestrade wrapped his arm around Mycroft's waist and pulled him close again, one hand going up to pet Mycroft's curls while he pecked the top of his head. "You're the best," he muttered, into Mycroft's hair. "I'm so lucky."

"I could say the same, love." Mycroft turned to press lazy kisses back to Lestrade the two of them too tired to take it deeper. The rest of the movie was forgotten as they slowly kissed, Mycroft sitting in Lestrade's lap and Lestrade with his arms wrapped around Mycroft's waist. "Can we go up to the bedroom, love?" Mycroft whispered after a while, cupping his lover's face in his hands. 

"Please," Lestrade smiled, gently guiding Mycroft from his lap and standing. He took his lover's hand and started up the stairs to their bedroom. When they got up there, Lestrade stripped of his shirt and climbed into bed, Mycroft following him. "Why don't you take off your shirt, love? It's supposed to warm up in the morning."

"You know I'm not fond of sleeping shirtless," Mycroft muttered as he settled next to Lestrade. 

"Like I've never seen you naked?" Lestrade frowned. He placed a hand on Mycroft's side and leaned over to press a gentle kiss on his cheek. "You know you don't have to hide anything from me. I think you're beautiful."

"Matter of opinion," Mycroft yawned, letting his eyes close. "Although I have to argue yours. As well as ask if you need glasses?"

Lestrade huffed and leaned over to peck Mycroft on the lips. "Shut up," he muttered. "You're beautiful and you know it."

"I gained weight," Mycroft muttered, pushing his face into the pillows. "I gained fifteen pounds while I was sick, I don't know how, but I did."

"Fifteen? Are you sure, hun?"

"Yes... I have fat that wasn't there a week ago," Mycroft groaned, turning onto his stomach to push his face farther into the pillows. "I look horrible."

"Baby, you look fine. I couldn't even tell and-"

"Yes, because I always have shirts on. I gain weight so quickly and it's so annoying. Yet I can't lose it. I'm so self conscious about it and I'm tired of having to hide..." Mycroft said, turning his head to look at his lover. "I just wish diets worked for me."

"You don't have to hide from me. I love you no matter what you look like," Lestrade muttered, running his hand over his lover's back and leaning over to peck him on the cheek. "You're beautiful to me no matter what."

Mycroft sighed and turned over onto his back. "Thank, love," he muttered, looking at Lestrade with a weak smile. "I'm sorry, but I hate how I look."

"Then we have a problem," Lestrade muttered, getting half over Mycroft to kiss him deeply. "Because I love what you look like."

Mycroft chuckled into Lestrade's lips and pulled him on top of his so they could kiss easier. Lestrade's hands snaked up Mycroft's shirt, making the Government Official jump slightly and break the kiss. 

"What are you-"

"Don't worry, love, it's only me," Lestrade soothed, rubbing Mycroft's side gently. Mycroft nodded slowly, biting his lip, as Lestrade moved his hands slowly farther up till the shirt pooled under his arms. "Lift your arms, baby."

Mycroft hesitated before slowly lifting his arms above his head. Lestrade pulled the shirt gently off and threw it near his on the floor. Mycroft sighed and winced as his stomach expanded. 

"I hate this," he muttered, trying to suck it in as much as he could.

"This takes trust, love. Do you trust me?" Mycroft nodded slowly and Lestrade smiled encouragingly at his lover. "Come on then, I'm not going to laugh or make fun of you. If you want, I'll even help you to lose it."

Mycroft slowly released his stomach and avoided looking at it as Lestrade's hands messaged his sides. "What do you mean, help me lose it?"

"Well, we can both go on a diet together," Lestrade suggested, kissing his boyfriend's lips gently. "And we can join a gym. We both have Sundays off, correct? We can go Saturday night or Sunday morning."

"You'd do that for me?" Mycroft asked, a small smile pulling at his lips.

"Of course, dear," Lestrade smiled back. "Maybe having someone by your side to do the same thing and encourage you to stick to it will make it easier."

"Maybe." Mycroft pulled Lestrade into a tight hug, kissing him deeply on the lips and tightening his grip around his waist. "I love you, you know that?"

"I know, and I love you too," Lestrade smiled into the kiss. "Besides, it'll be good for us to lose a few pounds each. Maybe I'll be able to keep up with your brother afterwards."

Mycroft laughed loudly, burying his face into Lestrade's neck. He felt Lestrade chuckling above him and only hugged his tighter. "I could sleep like this," Mycroft muttered, the laughter turning into chuckles. 

"Then do."

Lestrade ran his fingers through Mycroft's hair until he felt the chuckles subside. He continued the motion until Mycroft's breathing evened out and he heard the Government Official snoring softly. 

Lestrade let his eyes fall shut and his grip tighten slightly around the other man, holding him close to his chest. He loved this man, very much, and his mind always wondered in the direction of asking for his hand in marriage. He knew if Mycroft was the only one in his life, he'd be happy. Even more so if they could adopt a little kid, a little boy to call their own. Someone he could take to soccer games and teach how to throw a baseball. Someone who could look up to him and call him a dad. Lestrade always wanted that, always wanted a kid to care for. But if Mycroft just asked to marry him, he'd be happy; with or without a kid to call their own.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry it took so long for a new chapter! I have a few saved up now and can post a little more often, but I just haven't had much of a muse for writing. I'm going through more of a baking stage right now... 
> 
> Not to mention, I've been catching up on a really good story. You can find it on here. It's called "Give me a label (I'll Make Confetti)" by IBegToDreamAndDiffer. She's an amazing writer and I love all the stories she's posted. This one is about Greg and Mycroft as teenagers in high school and how they get together. It's really interesting and I love every chapter. I suggest going and finding it! 
> 
> Anyway, I'll try to post more often. Latez!

Lestrade lay awake in the bed with his arm trapped beneath Mycroft's stomach. Okay, so now he could see how Mycroft had gained fifteen pounds; his stomach sort of spilled into his hand and when he bent his fingers, the flesh squished... a lot. Lestrade didn't mind, of course. He told Mycroft the truth; he was beautiful no matter what he looked like, and the weight could easily be lost. 

Wrapping his other arm around Mycroft's stomach, Lestrade watched his lover's face as he slept. He was turned towards him and his face was gentle and peaceful. His nose would twitch once in a while or his lip would quiver, but that's what made watching Mycroft sleep interesting. He always made cute little faces, especially when he was dreaming. 

He didn't know how long he was laying there, but eventually, Mycroft moaned quietly and his face scrunched up as if he were waking. Lestrade leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Mycroft's lips, smiling when, after a few minutes, Mycroft's lips formed to his own and he hummed in surprise into the kiss. 

"That was a great way to wake up," Mycroft yawned with a smile as they broke and he was able to look at Lestrade. "Why are you still in bed? You didn't have to wait for me, you know."

"Actually, I kinda did," Lestrade chuckled. "My arm's trapped, love."

Mycroft looked down, blushed deeply, sucked in his stomach and rolled off of Lestrade's arm. He kept his back to Lestrade as he wrapped his arms around his middle, pulling his legs up a little. "I'm sorry," he muttered, his voice sounding embarrassed. "I told you I was fat."

"No, dear," Lestrade said, shaking his head and going up behind Mycroft, wrapping his arms around the Government Official's chest. "I could have easily got my arm out, but I didn't want to wake you. You're not fat."

“Well, I’m not skinny,” Mycroft muttered, pushing back into Lestrade’s hold. “Do you think we can start that diet today?”

“Of course,” Lestrade said, running a hand through Mycroft’s hair. “If that makes you happy. We can join a gym today as well, if you want to. Anything that will make you happy, love.”

Mycroft nodded and closed his eyes, breathing through his nose to try to calm the blush in his cheeks. “I hate this,” he muttered, knowing he was repeating himself. “I hate that I gain weight so fast. It never seems to go away. Why is it that I couldn’t have a faster metabolize like Sherlock? He could eat anything as a kid then go do nothing and it wouldn’t do a damn thing to him.”

“Love, stop,” Lestrade sighed, frowning. “I hate hearing you talk like this. It makes it sound like you hate yourself-“

“I do!” Mycroft cut him off, turning over to face Lestrade. “I hate how I look, I’ve never liked it. I was always made fun of the way I looked; my freckles, my weight, my hair. I’ve avoided looking much in the mirror because I always want to break the damn thing. I hate my body, I hate my hair, and I hate just… everything about me!”

Lestrade frowned and brushed a piece of the auburn hair from his lover’s eyes. “What about your personality?”

“What?”

“Do you hate your personality?” Lestrade asked, cupping Mycroft’s cheek in his hand and running a thumb over his cheek.

“Well, I don’t- I mean, I can’t-“

“And your eyes?”

“What about my eyes?”

“Do you hate those?”

“No… I guess I don’t-“

“And your smile? Or your intelligence? Do you hate those at all?”

“Well, no-”

“Do you hate the way you can take control of any situation that is thrown at you?” Lestrade asked, letting a small smile touch his lips.

“No-”

“Or what about the fact that people look up to you to know what to do? Do you hate being able to keep the world from falling apart?”

“No, I love that I can solve those problems, and I love that people trust me to.”

“Most importantly, do you hate being the best boyfriend in the world? Do you hate loving me?”

“What? Greg, no! That’s the best part of my life.”

“Then do you see what I mean, love,” Lestrade said, cupping Mycroft’s face with both his hands and leaning his forehead against Mycroft’s. “You’re beautiful. The things that make you beautiful greatly outnumber the things you think make you ugly. So what if you can afford to lose a little weight? Can’t we all? So what if others hate your freckles, I think they’re adorable. So what if you hate your hair? We can change it if you want to find a look that you think looks better. Everything you hate about yourself can be changed, love. It’s an easy fix. The things that can’t be changed are your best features. I love you, and I’m going to do everything in my power to make you happy; even if that includes helping you change yourself into what you consider to be “handsome.” I’ll always love you and the way you look, and nothing you can do can change that.”

Mycroft was at a loss for words, just staring at his boyfriend’s shinning eyes and brilliant smile. His eyes filled with tears and he quickly pulled Lestrade close to him and into a tight hug, burying his face into his lover’s neck and letting the tears fall.

“Love, what’s wrong? Did I say something?” Lestrade asked, arms wrapping around the other man and rubbing his back, trying to soothe him.

“No one’s cared so much,” Mycroft muttered, a smile dancing on his lips through the tears. “No one has told me anything even close to that and no one’s told me they would help me with the diet or changing what I hate about myself. None of my past lovers told me they just wanted me happy, none of them.” He sniffled and pulled Lestrade closer, his tears landing lightly onto the DI’s neck as he started chuckling wetly and quietly. “You’ve made me so happy, Greg, just by saying that. I swear, I am the luckiest person in the world to have such a great man such as yourself. What have I ever done to get this lucky?”

Lestrade smiled and tightened his grip around the other man, half burying his face into Mycroft’s hair. “I could wonder the same thing, love,” he whispered, peppering Mycroft’s head with soft kisses. “I’ve wondered the exact same thing.”

\----------

Lestrade placed a bowl down in front of Mycroft and one across from him, smiling down at his boyfriend before placing a light kiss to the top of Mycroft’s head. He could tell his lover wasn’t happy, but he hadn’t said a word yet.

“It’s the tea, isn’t it?” he asked, rubbing Mycroft’s back lovingly as his boyfriend hesitated, then nodded. “I know it’s different. It’s herbal; much better for you than the other crap, and only one sugar. I know you normally take milk in your tea, but milk in herbal is just… awful. Trust me.”

Lestrade sat down across from his lover as he sighed heavily; looking down at the strawberries and blueberries Lestrade had cut for them. He looked up to see his boyfriend taking a bite of his fruit and let a small smile cross his lips. “Thank you for doing this,” he muttered, picking up his spoon. “I know you don’t need to go on this diet-“

“Don’t be silly!” Lestrade cut him off, waving his hand. “I can afford to lose a few pounds myself. It’ll be good for both of us, plus we’ll stay motivated if it’s not just one of us doing this.”

“You don’t need to lose anything,” Mycroft argued, taking a bite of a strawberry and chewing it slowly, savoring the sweetness. “You’re fine as you are.”

“Yes, but I’d like to handle your brother for one day without being called “soft” or “slow,” you know? Losing some weight will be getting rid of the room for him to say those things,” Lestrade chuckled drying, spooning a blueberry into his mouth. “Besides, I’ve wanted to lose at least a bit of weight. I feel as though I’ve been eating one too many donuts over the week, if you know what I mean.”

“You’re perfect. I don’t understand what you see that you dislike about yourself.”

“Maybe now you see how I feel when I try to tell you that,” Lestrade winked before turning back to his bowl of fruit. Mycroft stared at Lestrade for a long moment before letting a small smile cross his lips as he thought about what the DI just did.

“I love you,” he muttered, smiling and turning to his own bowl.

“And I, you.”

\----------

“I’ve never seen you dressed like this, love,” Lestrade said, placing a hand on the sulking man’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, you just shocked me. I guess I’ve never pictured you out of your suits and ties.”

Mycroft stood in black shorts and a white t-shirt, his back turned on the DI and his arms over his chest. Lestrade had chuckled quietly when he saw Mycroft in this sort of outfit, unprepared for what to expect, and now the other man was pissed off and sulking like his brother.

“Forget it; I’m going to change,” Mycroft huffed, uncrossing his arms and turning to go around Lestrade and towards their bedroom. “I don’t need to go to a gym, I’ll just jog when _you aren’t around_.”

Lestrade frowned at his boyfriend and quickly followed him into the bedroom, closing the door behind him so Mycroft didn’t have any other means of escape. “Love,” he sighed, going up to where Mycroft was now laying out a fresh suit on the bed. He stepped between Mycroft and the bed, his hands landing on Mycroft’s hips. “I didn’t mean it. Come on, you can’t tell me you don’t think I look funny in shorts? I mean, look at me!”

Mycroft let his eyes scan Lestrade’s body, huffed, then turned to go back to the closet and continue to flip through his clothes. “You look fine,” he said over his shoulder, his voice icy. “Good, even.”

Lestrade shook his head and moved behind Mycroft, wrapping his arms around Mycroft’s middle and giving him a soft squeeze. “So do you, love,” he muttered, nipping his ear lobe. “You always look good. Forgive me, please? I don’t want you thinking I was laughing at you.”

“Then what were you laughing at?” Mycroft asked, turning in Lestrade grip so he could look him in the eyes. “And don’t lie to me. I always know when you’re lying.”

“I chuckled because I was surprised,” Lestrade said, leaning his forehead against Mycroft’s, who pulled back. Lestrade frowned and sighed. “Love, I’m sorry, I really am. I think you look fine, and I shouldn’t have laughed. I’m just not used to seeing you out of your normal suits unless we’re in bed. You just look… different with these on. It’s not bad, love.”

Mycroft sighed and looked at Lestrade’s eyes slowly, unsure of what to believe. He sighed slowly, letting the breath out through his nose. “You promise?” he muttered, chewing his bottom lip.

“Yes,” Lestrade nodded, leaning forward to kiss Mycroft gently on the lips. “Come on, you look perfect for where we’re going. I promise; you look fine.”

Mycroft nodded slowly and, chewing his lip, followed Lestrade out to the living room. Lestrade handed him a bottle of water as they passed the table and went to the front door; picking up his keys and wallet before they went out the front door. Lestrade unlocked the car door for the two of them and folded himself into the driver’s seat, watching as Mycroft sighed into the passenger’s seat and winced as his stomach expanded. Lestrade quickly leaned over to kiss Mycroft on the lips, keeping it soft and loving.

“Don’t worry about it, love,” he muttered against Mycroft’s lips before pulling back and starting up the car. “You look fine. I promise.”

Mycroft forced himself to relax at Lestrade’s words and leaned back into the seat, watching out the window as the town passed. He ignored the fact that his stomach hung out over his seatbelt and tried to resist the urge to suck it in. It wouldn’t do any good anyway, and Lestrade had promised that he was going to help him get rid of it. He trusted the man to keep his word and was just glad he wasn’t alone this time through.

They pulled into the gym parking lot and Mycroft looked up at the building, self loath in his eyes. He had tried to join a gym before, but canceled his membership soon after he had received it. It had done him no good then, why would this time be different?

_Because I have Greg this time, that’s why._

He sighed a deep, silent sigh before unbuckling his seat beat and pushing his door open, swinging his legs out of the car and standing. Lestrade was at his side by the time he had shut him door and he let the DI slip their hands together, their fingers folding between each other’s perfectly, as they did every time. It was a motion Mycroft knew he would never get tired of.

Lestrade led Mycroft in through the sliding doors and they were instantly hit with a wave of scents; sweat, breath, and Mycroft even got the tint of blood, but that was very faint and he knew it was a rare smell, even in the gym. Lestrade stepped up to the counter, Mycroft right by his side, and dinged the small bell that sat on the counter. A young woman, about the age of twenty-three, stepped out of a door behind the desk. Her eyes were a piercing green-blue and her long, mid-back length blond hair was pulled into a tight pony tail right in the middle of her head by a bright red bow. Her nails were a pitch black with two vertical red strips on each nail. Her lips were a dull pink and she had gages in each ear. She was a beautiful, skinny woman; and Mycroft envied her body.

“Good morning,” she smiled her teeth a brilliant white to contrast her lip shade. “How may I help you two fine gentlemen this morning?”

“Mornin’,” Lestrade smiled, leaning on the counter with Mycroft staying just behind him, their hands squeezing lightly. “We’d like to sign up for the couple’s membership.”

It was one of the few places Mycroft knew of to have a “couple’s membership.” He’s never heard of such a thing, but he trusted Lestrade knew what he was doing.

“Couples?” she frowned, looking between them. “You realize that’s for people who are… um, together, correct?”

“We are together,” Mycroft said, frowning back at the woman. “We are dating. Is there a problem with that?”

“No, sir, but the couples membership is for _real_ couples,” she spat at them, giving them a roll of her eyes. “Now, if you don’t mind; we have _serious_ consumers to attend to.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Lestrade said, leaning over the counter more, his frown turning into a sneer. “You’re saying we can’t join as a couple because we’re two _men_?”

“I’m saying that you two are _grown_ men and should really stop whatever it is you’re doing just to get the discount,” she hissed, picking up her clipboard and standing, her nose in the air as she looked down the bridge of it at the two of them. “I bid you both a good day.”

“Wait just one damn second!” Lestrade growled, slamming both hands down on the desk, Mycroft’s hand falling to his side and clenching in rage. “I demand to speak to your supervisor!”

“That won’t be necessary-“

“Go get your supervisor or I’ll make a few calls and get every single last one of you fired,” Mycroft growled, stepping forward and pulling out his iPhone, preparing to make the calls needed. “And believe me when I say I have the power to do it.”

The girl sneered at the two of them for a moment before picking up the desk phone and dialing a three digit number into the keypad. “Yes,” she said into the phone, her glare at the two men icy. “We have a problem at the front desk. Supervisor has been requested.” She nodded to whatever was said over the phone before humming and placing the phone back into the holder. “She’ll be down in a few moments.”

“Fine,” Lestrade growled back, reaching back and taking Mycroft’s hand in his once again. It wasn’t really that important that they got the discount, really; and Mycroft knew that. Lestrade knew that he had enough money to basically buy the place if they so damn wished to. It was the fact that they weren’t getting the discount because they were two _men_ that Mycroft saw pissed Lestrade off. And when Lestrade was pissed off, so was Mycroft. “I can’t believe this,” Lestrade growled to Mycroft, turning to face him and giving his lover’s hand a squeeze. “This is fucked up. So what if we’re men? We’re a couple and we’re happy, why does it matter what gender we are?”

“It doesn’t, love,” Mycroft muttered, his anger subsiding as he looked at his boyfriend’s heated glare. He felt sorry that this man had to go through this; he hated it when Lestrade was upset and he couldn’t really do much about it. He removed his hand from Lestrade’s and placed both hands on the man’s biceps, giving the muscles a soft, loving squeeze. “I love you, and that’s all that matters. We can easily find another gym to go to; it’s not that big of a deal.”

“Yes, it is, Myc!” Lestrade growled, shaking his head. “I hate it when people judge us just because of who we like. It shouldn’t matter if we’re signing up for the couple’s membership, even if we are two guys. We aren’t any different from any other couple in love.”

“I hate seeing you so mad,” Mycroft whispered, brushing the back of his fingers over Lestrade’s cheek, frowning at the DI.

“And I hate when people treat us this way,” Lestrade growled back, reaching up to take Mycroft’s hand in his and pulling it away from his cheek, just holding it. “You deserve better.”

“Greg, you’re the only person I care about how they treat me,” Mycroft muttered, rocking up onto his toes to peck Lestrade on the lips. “I honestly couldn’t give a damn about anyone else here. Let them think what they want, as long as we’re happy, I don’t see why it should matter.”

Lestrade sighed heavily and was about to say something when a woman spoke up behind them.

“What’s the problem?” asked an older woman from behind the desk, Lestrade turning to face her. She wore a small black pencil skirt with a gray tank top and a black blazer; her short auburn-red hair brushed the bottom of her ears and she had on large loop earrings that reached her shoulders. Her nails were a light shade of pink and her lips a bright red color that radiated from her pale white skin. Her eyes were outlined in a thin bit of black makeup and a silver chain held a small circular amulet that read the single word, “life.”

“Ma’me,” Mycroft said, stepping up to the desk before Lestrade could say anything. “It seems that your employee refuses to give us the couples membership due to the fact that we are both male. Does your establishment have an issue with same-sex couples?” Mycroft’s words flowed smoothly from his tongue, the business side of him taking over.

“Sir, I assure you we don’t, but the couple’s membership is strictly for couples of the male, female type. I apologize, but we cannot grant you the discount,” the supervisor replied smoothly, through it was obvious she was taken aback by Mycroft’s tone, catching herself quickly. “Is there anything else we can help you with?”

“Why don’t you show me where in your agreement it says that the couple cannot be the same sex?” Mycroft asked calmly, placing his hands into the pockets of his gym shorts. The supervisor looked take back by the request but quickly reached for a pamphlet, flipping through the few papers of the book.

“It says here all couples must come to sign up together, are willing to participate in gym activities, and-“

“Never says a thing about being the same or different sex relationships,” Mycroft said coldly, arching an eyebrow elegantly. “Now does it?”

The supervisor growled when she noticed Mycroft was correct. “No, I guess it doesn’t,” she said at length, crinkling her nose down at the paper. “Well, we’ll get you the paperwork and-“

“Oh, no,” Lestrade cut in, wrapping one arm around his boyfriend’s waist and shooting glares at the two woman. “We aren’t wasting our money at a place that doesn’t want us. Good day.”

Mycroft let his lover pull him from the building and out to the car, pausing outside to turn to look him in the eyes. “Are you okay, love?” Mycroft asked, seeing the fire that still burned there.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Lestrade growled, unlocking the car to let Mycroft in to the passenger side. “I’m just tired of these people. They look at us as if we’re freaks, and I hat- mhmm!”

Mycroft spun the DI around and pressed him roughly into the side of the car, claiming his lips with his own and kissing Lestrade till he was sure the DI would be breathless. He leaned his forehead against the DI’s and panted heavily across his lips, the other man doing the same.

“It doesn’t matter, love,” Mycroft panted, gripping Lestrade’s hips. “We’re not freaks. It doesn’t matter what everyone else thinks of us; I’ve got you and that’s all I care about.”

Lestrade panted for a moment before nodding slowly. “I agree,” he whispered, closing his eyes and letting his breathing even out. “I’m sorry; I know you’re right and all. I just want to make sure you’re happy, and I hate when people try to make us miserable because of who we like. I love you, Mycroft, and you’re right; that’s what matters.”

Mycroft let a small smile cross his lips and he pressed another kiss to the DI, keeping it light and loving. “Let’s go see if any of the other places we looked at are better,” Mycroft whispered, poking the DI in the side and laughing as he squirmed. “Next time, no asking for the couple’s membership; just sign us up and I’ll pay for whatever it is.”

Lestrade sighed and nodded, kissing Mycroft once more before wiggling out of his hold and going around to the driver’s seat and folding himself in. He heard a soft grunt next to him and smiled when he looked up to see Mycroft buckling his seat belt.

“What?” the man asked and Lestrade just smiled, letting his eyes scan his boyfriend slowly, a smirk on his face, before turning to the wheel.

“Nothing, love,” he smiled, starting the car up and pulling out of the lot.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! First off, thank you so much for continuing to read this story :) I know the updates are kind of at random times, but I hope to fix that. 
> 
> I should be updating a new story or chapter every monday, or at least, that's my goal now. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy!  
> ~Black-Rose-117

Lestrade took the clipboard and a pen and passed it to Mycroft, himself taking the second pair before following Mycroft to a set of chairs and sitting down. He placed his bottle of water on the small table that sat there and leaned back, crossing one leg over the other and leaning the clipboard on his thigh. He started to fill out the mindless questions, printing out his name and age along with his home town and his address.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Mycroft reading over the next page with all the ‘terms’ of the work out facility. He couldn’t help but smile to himself, knowing that they were in this together; and somehow that comforted him. He didn’t know why, all he knew was that Mycroft was going to be by his side and they were going to get fit together. It was fun, almost, thinking about having someone next to him to push him farther, never having been able to do it alone.

He had signed up for other memberships before to gyms, but always ended up canceling them. He was normally just too tired from work or dealing with his wife to go to the gym, but life with Mycroft was just… easy. He felt he could do this. He wanted to do this.

He signed the last of the papers and smiled as Mycroft did the same. “Are you ready, love?” He asked, leaning over to kiss Mycroft on the lips gently. He stood when Mycroft nodded, and took his clipboard from him to take to the desk. The lady at the desk smiled at him and gave him both of their cards to the gym and Lestrade turned to go back to Mycroft.

Mycroft held out a bottle of water to Lestrade, who took it and exchanged it with the card he had received for him. “Thanks,” Mycroft muttered, looking at the card and turning it over, inspecting the back. Lestrade only smiled and wrapped an arm around Mycroft’s waist, leading him towards the ellipticals.

“Let’s start with something easy, alright? Just a run for today; I don’t want us getting over tired,” Lestrade smiled, stopping next to one of the machines and placing his water on the ground between the two of them. Mycroft did the same and Lestrade stepped up to Mycroft’s machine to help him set it up. “How fast do you want to go, love?”

“N-not too fast… I haven’t run in a long while,” Mycroft blushed lightly, watching his boyfriend set the machine. “Just… a slow jog, please.”

“Of course,” Lestrade smiled, finishing the programming and stepping up to his own machine. “Start jogging when you’re ready, love.”

Mycroft nodded, sighed, and started to jog slowly, the machine hitting the pace it was set for at a nice, normal jog. Mycroft was panting after the first minute and hated how his stomach heaved, the fat bouncing slightly as he took each step. He stole a glance at his boyfriend who was jogging a bit faster than Mycroft was, but that was to be expected; he did a lot more running in a day than Mycroft had ever done in his life.

“Just breath, love,” Lestrade commented, his tone a little breathless, but not as bad as Mycroft was, who was almost wheezing. “Focus on your breathing. It should help.”

“C-can’t,” Mycroft panted back, a blush coloring his cheeks from lack of oxygen.

“Come on, love, it’s only been about two minutes,” Lestrade said, glancing at his boyfriend and seeing how much he was struggling. “I know you can do it.”

“H-how long?” Mycroft panted back, closing his eyes and trying to focus on just breathing.

“We’re just going to five minutes, love.”

Mycroft nodded, unable to do much more, and just continued to jog and focus on his breathing. Everything hurt; his lungs couldn't pull in the oxygen fast enough and he felt like he would pass out at any second if he didn't stop to catch his breath soon. But he continued to push himself, his throat drying out and his breathing becoming shallower and quicker. He couldn't swallow to wet his throat, there just wasn't enough time to breath and swallow. His arms pumped at his sides, it getting harder and harder to keep them at hight with his stomach, instead they flopped down by his hips. A heavy sweat coated his face and forehead and he was starting to feel the effects of being light headed. 

A small beep put him out of his misery as he stumbled off the elliptical, doubling over with his hands on his knees trying to pull in oxygen. He heard another set of beeps from Lestrade's machine, a few more beeps as the man pushed a couple buttons, than two smooth steps to the ground. A bottle of water appeared in his line of vision and he looked up at Lestrade, who was holding it out to him with his own water in his other hand. Mycroft stood up a bit straighter and took the water with a nod of thanks. 

"You did great, love," Lestrade whispered, pecking the man on the lips quickly. He broke the seal on his water and popped the lid off, drinking deeply from it. Mycroft did the same before responding. 

"God, I'm so... out of shape," he panted, shaking his head. It was difficult to pull in air, even now that he was just standing there. "Can we... sit down... for a moment?"

"Of course, love," Lestrade smiled, taking Mycroft's hand and leading him to the steam room. "I think a nice steam would do us some good, don't you?"

Mycroft nodded and followed Lestrade to the towel room. The door shut behind them and Mycroft noted no one else was around. He watched Lestrade strip down to his pants and wrap a towel around his waist, turning to face Mycroft.

"Come on, dear, you can't go in with your clothes on," Lestrade whispered, stepping up to Mycroft and running his hands under Mycroft's shirt. "It'll be way too hot."

Mycroft shook his head but didn't step away from Lestrade's touch. "I don't want to take my shirt off," he muttered, avoiding Lestrade's gaze. "I can't..."

"Yes, you can," Lestrade smiled sadly, raising Mycroft's shirt slightly. "You have nothing to be ashamed of. You're beautiful, a little bit of fat or not."

Mycroft whimpered as Lestrade pulled the shirt over his head and threw it on the bench on top of his own stuff. Lestrade ran his hands down Mycroft's sides and dipped them into the band of his shorts, pushing them down slowly. He waited till Mycroft stepped out of them before reaching behind him for a towel, wrapping it around his lover's waist and tucking it in so it'd stay. 

"See?" Lestrade whispered, leaning forward and pecking Mycroft gently. "Beautiful."

"Matter of opinion," Mycroft muttered to himself, chewing on his bottom lip as he avoided looking into the mirror. 

"Dear," Lestrade frowned, moving Mycroft to stand right in front of the mirror. He wrapped his arms around Mycroft's middle and placed his chin on Mycroft's shoulder, looking into the mirror at them. "Just look. You are beautiful; you just have to start believing it."

Mycroft turned his head to look at the mirror slowly, his eyes focusing on his lover before they fell on himself. He winced to see how fat he really looked, but relaxed when Lestrade's arms covered some of the pudge, making him look just a bit better. He let a small smile cross his lips as Lestrade pressed a caress kiss to his neck and turned to look back at the mirror, smiling when he saw Mycroft smiling. 

"I'm not beautiful," Mycroft said, smiling wider as Lestrade pouted slightly at the words. It was just so cute. "But we are."

Lestrade chuckled lightly and leaned forward to capture Mycroft's lips over his shoulder, tightening his grip around his waist. 

"Let's go to the steam room," Lestrade whispered, taking Mycroft's hand and working their fingers together. "I want to cuddle in there."

"I'd like that," Mycroft smiled as he began to follow Lestrade again to the steam room. They opened the heavy door and Mycroft breathed a sigh of relief when he saw no one else was in there. 

Lestrade made his way up to the back left corner, farthest from the door, and sat down, leaning on the wall and stretching one leg out along the bench. He pated the bench between his legs and smiled at Mycroft, holding his arms out for him. Mycroft chuckled and made his way up to Lestrade, sitting down and leaning back into Lestrade's embrace, smiling as the steam surrounded them. He dropped the side of his head to Lestrade's shoulder and sighed happily as Lestrade started to pet his hair, allowing him to close his eyes and just enjoy the touches. 

"I promise, I'll help you make things better for you," Lestrade whispered, his eyes watching the steam surround Mycroft as the man closed his eyes. "I'll help you lose the weight you want to. I know it's hard now, but we'll get through it."

Mycroft hummed and let a small smile cross his lips. "Thanks," he muttered, snuggling closer to Lestrade's neck. 

Lestrade only continued to pet Mycroft's hair as the other man relaxed farther into his grip. They were only supposed to stay in there for an hour, but Lestrade figured after that, it would be good to just call it a day and go home. Mycroft has had a rough day, after all, and he didn't want to tire his boyfriend out too much. 

\----------

Lestrade smiled at his lover as he joined him in the car. They had both just finished changing back into their gym clothes and were now heading back home. Mycroft's shirt was still sweaty, and he was still self-concuss about his stomach, but otherwise, Lestrade thought their first day went pretty well.

They were driving home in silence, the radio turned on but kept low for just background noise. Mycroft was staring out the window at the buildings that passed, watching the people who strolled down the sidewalk and the business men who were hailing cabs in an attempt to head home. It was interesting, in a way, watching the people as they went about their lives. They were all so different from one another, yet they made up this one community. It was, in a way, amazing.

They were only half way home by the time Mycroft started to get a tickle in his throat. He dismissed it as some sort of after effect of the work out, or even the steam room, and just uncapped his water, taking a deep drink from the room temperature liquid. He downed the whole bottle quickly, the tickle not going away, and eventually just raised his arm and coughed into the crook of his elbow. Not thinking much of it, he just sat back in his seat and continued to watch out the window.

The rest of the ride was silent, Mycroft coughing into his arm a few more times between then and when they pulled into the parking area of their flat. Lestrade shut off the car and turned, frowning at Mycroft as he went into another coughing fit. He placed a light hand on Mycroft’s knee, rubbing it gently with his thumb until the coughing subsided yet again.

“Are you alright, love?” Lestrade asked, his eyebrows knitted together in worry as he watched his lover pant heavily. “Not getting sick again, are you?”

“God, I hope not,” Mycroft muttered through the pants, sitting back up in his seat and shaking his head. “I don’t know what it is. Maybe my throat’s just dry or something. Can we go upstairs?”

“Of course.”

Lestrade took the keys and his wallet and climbed out of the car, soon joined at the hood by Mycroft as they made their way up to the flat. Lestrade pressed the elevator button and stepped back besides Mycroft as they waited, lacing their fingers together.

“How do you think we did today?” he asked, kissing his lover’s knuckles just before the elevator doors opened and they stepped inside. “I mean, did you like it at all?”

“I liked the steam room,” Mycroft nodded as he reached across Lestrade to press their floor number. “But I wasn’t much of a fan of the elliptical, to tell you the truth. I don’t know what happened. I know I am out of shape, but still-“

“It’ll get easier over time,” Lestrade promised. “Things will all become easier. We’ll get you as happy and healthy and thin as you want, and I’ll be by your side the whole way. That, I can promise.”

“Getting healthier and thinner would be nice,” Mycroft replied more to himself. The elevator doors dinged open and they stepped out, making the short trip to their flat door. Lestrade unlocked it as Mycroft went into another coughing fit, his patience quickly fading.

“Shall we fix dinner? It’s nearly seven,” Lestrade said, moving to pat Mycroft on the back as he caught his breath yet again and stood up completely straight.

“Yeah, I got it, thought. You’ve cooked everyday this week.” He made his way to the kitchen, Lestrade close on his heels and taking a seat at the counter.

“True, but that’s only because of what happened last time you had to cook, remember, love?” Lestrade chuckled.

Oh, Mycroft remembered all too well. He shot Lestrade a look out of the corner of his eye and moved to the fridge, opening the doors and scanning all they had inside. “Geez, you catch _one piece of chicken_ on fire and suddenly you’re not allowed to cook anymore,” he huffed, settling his gaze on the vegetables they had in the freezer and remembering they had some uncooked rice in the cupboard, figuring he’d make a stir fry.

“And burned the toast, undercooked the broccoli, turned peas, somehow, into mush, as well as burn the outside of a steak while the inside was still _completely_ raw,” listed Lestrade, ticking each item off on his fingers. “Not to mention-“

“Okay, I get it, I can’t cook,” Mycroft growled, dropping the ingredients on the counter and slouching into a chair, watching as Lestrade stood and picked up where he left off. “I still don’t understand how that happened, though.” He murmured more to the counter, leaning his cheek on his fist.

“What? The steak?”

“Yeah, I mean, how do you burn the outside while _nothing else_ cooks?” Mycroft exclaimed.

“I don’t know, you did it!” This earned another annoyed huff from Mycroft before he was thrown into another coughing fit, wheezing between the violent attacks on his lungs. He could feel the beginning of a headache and rolled his eyes, standing once his fit was over and going over to the cabinet next to the stove, opening its door and finding the small aspirin bottle. He popped the lid open and poured a few into his hand, downing the three small circles with a glass of water.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” he muttered, rinsing his glass and placing it, upside down, next to the sink to dry. “The Bronchitis is gone yet I still feel like I have mild symptoms of it. Like it’s not going away.”

“Would you want to go to the doctors?” Lestrade asked, shooting his lover a worried glance, pouring the rice and water into a sauté pan and covering it. If there was one thing he learned in his high school culinary class, it was never – ever – stir the rice. “I mean, if you feel you need to-“

“No, no, it’s not that bad,” Mycroft muttered, clearing his throat. “But after dinner, I’d like to take a shower and go to bed. I feel really tired all of a sudden.”

“Would you like to be alone for that shower?” Lestrade asked, smiling slightly.

“Would you like to join me?” Lestrade chuckled quietly and nodded, adjusting the temperature on the stove.

“In fact, I would,” he joked, watching the time slip by as the rice cooked. “It sounds like a right good time.”

Mycroft laughed, trying his best to hold in the coughs, and went up to Lestrade, wrapping his arms around his lover’s middle. “And bed?” he muttered, resting his chin on Lestrade’s shoulder as his lover’s hand rested against his arm.

“It’ll be early, but I’ll join you,” Lestrade whispered, uncovering the rice to pour the vegetables in and stir it a little before covering it back up. “Besides, I’m sort of tired myself. Not to mention I have to get up early. Bloody work.”

“I know, same here,” Mycroft sighed, the smell of the cooking vegetables circling him and engulfing him in a mouthwatering aroma. “Man, you’re such a great cook, love.”

“It’s just stir fry. It’s pretty easy,” Lestrade laughed, kissing his lover’s cheek. “No offense.”

“Just shut up and finish cooking so we can eat and go get a shower,” Mycroft huffed, untangling himself from his lover and going over to the sink to fill the kettle and prepare tea for the two of them. He caught Lestrade watching him as he turned to put the water on the stove and raised an eyebrow, letting a small smile caress his lips. “Would you like to cook this too? You don’t want me to burn the water, do you?”

Lestrade frowned and made his way over to Mycroft, placing his hands on his lover’s hips and pecking his lips. “I didn’t mean it that way and you know it,” he muttered, giving Mycroft a small pout when he just chuckled.

“I know, love. I’ll admit it; I’m not a great cook. I was only joking around with you,” Mycroft shrugged with a smile, wiggling out of Lestrade’s hold to put the kettle down on the stove. “It doesn’t bother me.”

Lestrade retreated back to the stove besides Mycroft and continued to watch the rice. “I could teach you, if you want,” Lestrade muttered, turning as Mycroft took his seat at the counter again.

“I’d like that,” Mycroft nodded. Another cough overtook him for a few moments and Lestrade watched him worriedly till it passed. “Though, I think we’d better wait till this little- whatever it is, is over with.”

“I agree. If it doesn’t get better soon I want to have John come over again and look you over. I don’t want your Bronchitis to come back without us noticing,” Lestrade muttered as he turned back to the rice, taking it off the heat and moving it to the counter, carefully avoiding Mycroft. He grabbed the kettle as it started to whistle and poured them both a cup of tea, preparing it just how they both liked it.

“I could have gotten that,” Mycroft murmured as his cup was set in front of him, the steam breaking against his face.

“Well, I was up,” Lestrade said as Mycroft went into another coughing fit. “Love, are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Mycroft forced a smile, panting slightly and picking up his tea. He took a few sips, letting the hot liquid sooth his scratched-raw from coughing throat. “And thank you.”

Lestrade hummed and nodded in reply, picking up a spoon and two plates from the counter and bringing them over to the table. He set them down along with two forks and quickly dished both of them up. He passed Mycroft a plate and took his own, scooping a bit onto his fork and lifting it to his mouth. He always loved stir fry, and it was healthy enough when made at home. They would have to eat it more. “How is it, love?” he asked, watching with a smile as Mycroft lifted another bite to his own mouth.

“Good,” Mycroft nodded, giving Lestrade a small smile back before he ate the bit on his fork. “Better than it would have been if I was cooking it, I’m sure.”

“Oh, stop. You’ll be a great cook after I show you the few simple skills you need,” he promised his lover before falling silent, the two of them eating their way, slowly, through the pan of stir fry. Once it was mostly gone, Mycroft stood and packaged the rest into a storage container and pushed it into the fridge.

“Shower?” Mycroft asked, turning back to Lestrade, who was carrying the pan to the sink. He saw the small smirk that crossed Lestrade’ s lips before he turned to him and held his hand out to Mycroft, who took it, lacing their fingers together.

“Love to,” he smiled, pulling Mycroft towards the stairs. They made their way up to the third floor bathroom and Lestrade pulled Mycroft in while he shut the door. He turned to his lover, noticing he was panting slightly, and stepped closer. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t know,” Mycroft muttered, wrapping his arms around Lestrade’s waist, pulling him to him. “Just a little out of breath from the stairs. Guess I took them kind of fast.”

Lestrade frowned for a moment until Mycroft had caught his breath long enough to pull the other man down for a kiss. Lestrade let Mycroft lead, backing up as the other man pushed back. He felt his back hit the wall and Mycroft’s body soon covering his front with his own body. Mycroft’s hands landed on Lestrade’s hips, fingers pressing into the skin underneath as Mycroft tried to bring them closer. The kiss became heated quickly, Mycroft’s tongue pressing its way into Lestrade’s mouth to map out each corner slowly and carefully, making sure to take extra note of exactly _where_ drove Lestrade mad. Where, if pressed correctly, made the cute little noises escape Lestrade’s lips like Mycroft knew they would. Which places had Lestrade withering and begging for more.

Hands snaked up Mycroft’s shirt, cold against his warm skin, and he grunted in surprise. He let the kiss break as he lifted his arms above his head, Lestrade lifting the shirt off before going back to attacking Mycroft’s lips. Mycroft heard the shirt land somewhere over by the door and smiled into the kiss as Lestrade’s hands started to rub up and down his newly exposed skin. It felt good, just to be touched like that. He ignored the urge to cover his stomach or suck it in, just letting Lestrade touch him gently and lovingly, turning them so Mycroft’s back hit the wall and Lestrade was pressed against him, leaning up to press his lips against his. Mycroft tried to slip his hands between them to work on the buttons on Lestrade’s shirt, but the other man wouldn’t have it.

“No, tonight, my love, you will let me take control,” Lestrade growled, taking Mycroft’s hands and pinning them up above his head against the wall. “I want to take control of you.”

Mycroft whimpered at the lust that filled his lover’s voice as Lestrade pressed his member against Mycroft. He was flush between Lestrade and the wall by now, his neck being kissed down as Lestrade’s teeth left love bites doted down to his collar bone. Lestrade’s tongue darted out lapped at his collar bone, Mycroft withering beneath him and releasing small, pathetic moans into the quiet room.

“S-shower?” Mycroft whimpered, Lestrade’s free hand going down to undo both of their pants.

“Let me finish undressing us, than I’d love to,” Lestrade chuckled as he pushed his own trousers down and then Mycroft’s, leaving both men in just their pants. A tent was obvious in Mycroft’s pants and became larger as Lestrade slowly started to grind against his hips, their erections rubbing together. Mycroft whimpered and dropped his head to Lestrade’s shoulder, his back arching in to Lestrade so he could press his full chest into the other man’s.

Lestrade reached between them and took a step back, his fingers dipping into the band of Mycroft’s pants, pushing them down until his erection sprang free, admitting a loud moan from his throat to escape. Mycroft watched in awe as Lestrade pushed his own pants down, his erection springing free to rub just barely against his own and create the smallest, sweetest friction Mycroft had ever felt.

“Turn the shower on, will you, love?” Lestrade whispered darkly into Mycroft’s ear, sending shivers down his spine as he released his hands.

Mycroft nodded and reached for the knob. It took effort to get the water running, Lestrade moving his hips up and down slowly so their erections bobbed together and just barely touched, keeping the distance just far enough that it wasn’t painfully arousing. Once it was going, though, Lestrade pushed Mycroft back, letting him step over the little curb and onto the cold tile floors of the shower. Lestrade slid the glass door shut behind them before approaching Mycroft with a hungry look in his eyes. Hands snaking up Mycroft’s sides, over his stomach, Lestrade dipped up to kiss Mycroft’s lips hungrily, all the lust and need leaking into that one dance of the lips.

“What do you want?” Lestrade asked, his lips dancing down to work on Mycroft’s neck, biting and licking above his pulse point. “Tell me what you want me to do. Do you want me to fuck you, love?”

“Yes,” Mycroft breathed, his head falling back to rest against the cold tile, the warm water falling around his head and causing a strange sensation of cold and warm swimming around his brain. “I want you. Greg- I need you.”

“You need me?” Lestrade chuckled, smiling into Mycroft’s skin. He lifted his head back up to capture Mycroft’s lips again in a slow, dazzling kiss that made Mycroft’s head spin. “Then maybe I should help you with that.”

Mycroft yelped into Lestrade’s mouth as he felt a slick, wet finger run across his entrance. Shuttering, his hands gripped at Lestrade’s back as the finger pushed its way inside him pumping slowly and shallowly as Mycroft withered and squirmed.

“You okay with this, love?” Lestrade asked, letting his fingers brush over Mycroft’s balls in a tease. He kissed the corners of Mycroft’s mouth and nipped at them gently, his tongue darting out afterwards and soothing the bite marks.

“Yes,” Mycroft whispered back in a breath. He tried to capture Lestrade’s lips as he nipped at him but with no avail. Lestrade chuckled quietly at his attempts before rewarding him with a slow, agonizing dance of lips as he pumped his finger in and out slowly.

He slipped in a second finger and sucked Mycroft’s bottom lip between his teeth, working the delicate skin with light drags of his teeth, sucking on it as he went. He slowly pushed both fingers in to the second knuckle and paused for a long moment – long enough for Mycroft to start to get impatient at the slightly uncomfortable presence and press his hips back, trying to gain some sort of friction. One of his hands found its way up into Lestrade’s hair, twirling its digits into the curls as the other landed on the small of his back. The water ran over his hand as it hit Lestrade’s back and he moved his hand slowly down with it till he was kneading Lestrade’s butt gently. He worked his hand between the two cheeks till he was able to rub one of his fingers around the puckered hole, Lestrade moaning into the kiss.

“God, you gonna fuck me with your fingers?” Lestrade breathed over Mycroft’s lips, nipping the corners again. “Please, I want you to fill me as I do the same to you.”

Mycroft caught Lestrade’s lips again as he pushed his first finger into the hole to the first knuckle. He pushed it in slowly to the last knuckle and bent it, Lestrade moaning deeply into the kiss. He pulled almost all the way out before pushing back in with a second finger added. Lestrade whimpered loudly, the kiss breaking as he dropped his head to Mycroft’s shoulder.

“Too- too soon, love,” he whimpered into the crook of Mycroft’s neck. “S-slow down.”

“But it feels good, does it not?” Mycroft asked, kissing the part of Lestrade’s neck he could reach. “You like it rough, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Lestrade panted out, his warm breath ghosting across Mycroft’s wet skin. “I-I do… God, I do!”

Mycroft snickered and pumped the two fingers slowly. Lestrade’s fingers had frozen deep inside of him and he pushed his hips back, the wall behind him helping him to push Lestrade’s fingers even farther into him. “Please, love,” he found himself whispering into Lestrade’s ear. “Move your fingers. I want to feel you.”

Lestrade nodded and shakily started pumping his fingers, as though he couldn’t concentrate on what he was doing. Mycroft pushed a third finger in as Lestrade did the same, and both men moaned loudly in unison. Mycroft’s head fell back to the tile wall once again, his eyes closing, as he felt a soft pair of lips kiss lazily at his neck. Teeth moved gently across his neck, just barely caressing the skin and tongue soothed the marks.

“I want to take you,” Lestrade whispered after a few moments of pumping and moaning. “I want to take you against this wall and have you withering beneath me. I want you begging me for release. For you to feel the water against your back and be pushed closer and closer to your orgasm just by me filling you.”

“Oh god,” Mycroft breathed, his breath hitching in his chest as he listened to Lestrade’s deep, husky voice. “Please. I want that.”

“Turn around than. You can finger me later. I was to see your ass, begging for me as your face is pressed into the tiles,” Lestrade said, running one hand down Mycroft’s side till he could squeeze his hip. “Come on, love. Let me feel you around me. Let me pound into you till you cry out my name.”

Mycroft pulled his fingers out of Lestrade, admitting another moan from deep within Lestrade’s throat. He turned and pressed himself to the tiles, his hands pressed above his head and his erection flush between his stomach and the cold tiles. He moaned when he felt Lestrade’s member rub against his entrance, teasing him before just barely dipping inside. He pulled out almost instantly, Mycroft groaning in impatience.

“Damn it, Gregory,” he cursed, his hands being pinned above his head just as he was about to move them. “Fuck me already!”

“Impatient, aren’t we, love?” Lestrade chuckled, dipping in again and pulling back out. “I want you to beg for me. I want you to _beg_ for me to fuck you, hard, against this tile.”

“Please-“

“No,” Lestrade cut him off, nipping at his neck. “Don’t just say please. Really _beg_ for me. I want to know how bad you _want_ it. I want to know how bad you really want me.”

“Greg, please. Fuck me,” Mycroft said, his eyes falling closed as Lestrade brushed over his entrance yet again. “I want you in me. I want you to fill me and push me into this wall. I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t stand comfortably for a week!”

“And?” Lestrade prompted, pushing the head of his erection in and pausing, Mycroft squirming when he stopped. Lestrade knew he was going to try to force him in farther and placed his free hand on Mycroft’s hips, succeeding in holding his hips still completely.

“And… And I want you to come inside me. I want your seed to just... naaahh,” Mycroft’s head fell to the tiles, his forehead pressing into one of the cracks there. He withered for a moment as Lestrade paused again, a little deeper this time. “To just… Just bring me over the edge. God Damn you, I want you to fill me so much I’ll be leaking for hours. Please! Greg, I need you so bad!”

Lestrade pushed in slowly – agonizingly slow that had Mycroft pushing against the tile to get friction against his throbbing erection. He tried to pull his hands free, just to touch Lestrade, but Lestrade wouldn’t have it. He tightened his grip on his wrists and let his other hand snake between them to fiddle with Mycroft’s balls. He nipped at the place between Mycroft’s shoulder blades, biting down and sucking till there was a nice red love-bite there. He kissed the wound, licking it and soothing it over.

Mycroft withered between Lestrade and the wall, looking for someplace to give him friction. He jumped when Lestrade’s hand found its way to his balls and grunted into the tiles as they began to expertly message them and roll them around. He felt his toes curl and warmth pool in his stomach as Lestrade pushed him closer and closer to the edge.

Lestrade’s hips pumped hard and fast into Mycroft, the feeling of the tight warmth around him bringing him dangerously close to going over the edge already. He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it up; he wasn’t a teenager anymore, after all. So when he felt his orgasm move from his stomach to his balls, he knew he was going to be pushed over the edge any moment now. By the way Mycroft moaned and tensed beneath him, he wasn’t far either.

“Love, I want you to scream my name,” Lestrade whispered when he felt he wouldn’t be able to hold on any longer. “Please, come with me. Scream my name.”

Mycroft nodded and balled his hands into fists against the tile. He felt the edge coming fast and prepared himself the best he could. His legs were pushed farther apart by Lestrade and he felt his entrance squeeze against Lestrade’s erection. Lestrade moaned loudly and thrusted his hips forward hard. Mycroft was pushed over the edge and he screamed Lestrade’s name to the wall, his orgasm burst from him and squirted all over the wall. He felt his muscles squeeze Lestrade and his lover fall over the edge not a few seconds later, screaming his name into the space between his shoulders. Mycroft felt Lestrade tense and release into him, the orgasm filling him to the point that had him withering under him.

Once Lestrade was spent and his muscles felt slack, he turned the both of them so his back was to the wall, wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s waist, pulled out of him, and slid down the wall till Mycroft was in his lap on the floor. He dropped his head to Mycroft’s shoulder and kissed it gently, feeling completely wasted. He trailed lazy kisses up Mycroft’s neck to his ear and sucked the lobe in, messaging it between his teeth.

“We should get cleaned up,” Mycroft whispered after a few moments, tracing lazy circles in the skin on Lestrade’s leg with his finger. He bent back and kissed Lestrade gently on the lips. “My back’s starting to bother me, so is my shoulder. I think I just need to get off this hard floor.”

“You’re not even on the floor, you’re sitting in my lap,” Lestrade chuckled, helping Mycroft to stand before groaning and standing himself.

“Then you have a very hard, bony lap,” Mycroft chuckled back, rubbing at his back with his hand.

“Well-“

“Don’t say it,” Mycroft cut him off with a wave of his hand and a smile. “I already know what you’re about to say and I don’t really want to hear that.”

“But you know it’s true,” Lestrade laughed.

“Shut up! True or not, I still don’t want to hear-“

“About my hard-“ Mycroft cut off his sentence by pushing him under the water, chuckling as Lestrade’s hair plastered down to his forehead and water rushed into his mouth, affectively shutting him up.

The other man stepped out from the spray and spit out the water that had filled his mouth. “Well that was mature,” he scolded, trying to give Mycroft a glare that was counteracted by the smile on his lips. Mycroft shrugged and went over to wrap his arms around his boyfriend’s neck, kissing him gently on the lips.

“Maybe it wasn’t, but you wouldn’t shut up otherwise.”

They released each other and began washing each other with the soap. As soon as they were finished in the bathroom, they got dressed and Mycroft dragged Lestrade to bed, collapsing in the warmth of the sheets and wrapping up in each other’s arms. As soon as Mycroft had his head rested on Lestrade’s shoulder and they had exchanged their last lazy, tired kisses of the night, Mycroft fell right asleep wrapped in his boyfriend’s warm embrace.


	14. Chapter 14

Lestrade woke up the next morning with the bed empty. He grunted, pushed himself – mostly – up, and looked around the bedroom through sleep-heavy lids. He could hear painful sounding moaning from the bathroom and slowly stood, worry etching into his features. He knocked on the door a few times, leaning against the frame and resting his ear to the wood.

“Love?” he asked, listening for any sign that Mycroft was okay. “Dear, can you open the door? Are you okay?”

After a moment’s pause, footsteps padded on the floor and the soft click of a lock sounded. Lestrade pushed the door open and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “Love? Are you okay in here?”

“Yeah,” Mycroft grunted, leaning back against the wall across from the mirror, turning his head slightly from one direction to the other, his eyes closed. “My back and neck are just killing me. And my shoulder is a little painful.”

“Dear,” Lestrade sighed, lacing his fingers with Mycroft and pulling on him gently till he coasted away from the wall. He lead him to the bed and pushed him gently till he was laying down. “Turn on your stomach.” Mycroft gave Lestrade a quizzical glance before covering his lower half with the blanket and turning onto his stomach, pillowing his chin on his arms.

Lestrade crawled onto the bed, straddling Mycroft’s lower back and putting all his weight on his legs, making sure none of it was on Mycroft's spine. He pushed the heels of his palms on the center of Mycroft’s back and pushed up at the same time, slowly working his way up to his shoulders. He tried to work out the knots slowly as he went up. He put pressure on Mycroft’s shoulders, just at the crook of his neck, and smiled gently when Mycroft hummed in pleasure. He worked his way back down to Mycroft’s lower back before starting back up to his shoulders. He continued this a few times before bending over and whispering into Mycroft’s ear, “Does this help, love?”

“Em-hum,” Mycroft hummed, his eyes falling closed as Lestrade worked. “Still stings, but that feels so much better.”

Lestrade nodded and moved his hands up to Mycroft’s neck, gently working out the knots there with his fingers. Mycroft moaned quietly in relief and Lestrade couldn’t help but lean down to kiss the base of his skull. He peppered a few kisses around Mycroft’s neck before going back up to sit and work at the knots at a better angle. He kept working for a few minutes, keeping the touches gentle but firm, and kissed his lover between the shoulder blades whenever his hands were up at Mycroft’s neck.

“This is really nice, love, thank you,” Mycroft said, sighing deeply. “But I sadly have to get up for work. Maybe I can return the favor later?”

“I’d like that, love,” Lestrade nodded, kissing Mycroft’s cheek as Mycroft turned his head on its side to look up at Lestrade. “I’m glad I could help.”

“You really did.” Mycroft coughed deeply into his arm as Lestrade maneuvered himself off of Mycroft’s back and to his feet. He waited for Mycroft to stand up before lacing their fingers together and squeezing his hand gently.

They went down the stairs and into the kitchen, Mycroft sitting at the table and Lestrade going to work at the stove.

“Do you need any help, love?” Mycroft asked after a few moments of silence. Lestrade turned to him and smiled.

“Do you want to cut up some strawberries and make us some tea?” he asked, leaning over to peck Mycroft on the lips. Mycroft nodded and stood, getting the strawberries from the fridge and a cutting board, along with a knife, placing them all on the table. He took the strawberries to the sink and rinsed them out, humming quietly as he did so.

He went over to the cutting board with a bowl of strawberries and placed it next to the cutting board, picking one up and beginning to cut it into fourths. The smell of cooking oatmeal filled the kitchen and Mycroft sniffed excitedly at the air. He smiled as Lestrade turned to look at him and chuckled.

“It smells good,” Mycroft blushed, turning back to the strawberries, turning his head to cough into his elbow. “You know I love oatmeal.”

“I know, which is why I’m fixing it,” Lestrade smiled back at Mycroft, setting the spoon down on the counter and going over to the fridge.

Mycroft finished cutting the strawberries and moved them into a bowl, going towards the sink and filling the pot up with water. He placed the pot on the stove and turned to find Lestrade washing out some blueberries.

“And blueberries?” Mycroft asked, smiling and going to wrap his arms around his lover’s waist as he bent over the sink. “Man, you’re spoiling me, love.”

“I know how much you love blueberries on your oatmeal, along with strawberries. I figure if you’re going to eat healthy, why not make it something you love to eat?” Lestrade placed the blueberries on the table and turned in Mycroft’s grip, placing his damp hands on Mycroft’s hips, leaning in to kiss him gently. “I just want you happy, love.”

“I am happy,” Mycroft smiled, running one of his hands through Lestrade’s hair. The kettle started to whistle from the stove and Mycroft sighed, pulling from Lestrade’s grip regretfully. “Is the oatmeal ready? I’ll fix us up some cups of tea.”

“Yeah, give it about five more minutes here,” Lestrade nodded, stepping up next to Mycroft and stirring the oatmeal with the spoon.

Mycroft got to work with the tea bags, placing one in each cup than pouring the steaming hot water over each bag. He added the cream and sugar to each of their likings and carried the cups over to the table. He sat down, cradling his cup in his hands as he watched Lestrade work from the back. He watched the man spoon them both nice big bowls of oatmeal and carry both bowls, along with the blueberries, over to the table. He sat down across from Mycroft and pulled two spoons from the drawer behind him. He spooned them both some blueberries and strawberries onto the oatmeal and passed one of the warm bowls to Mycroft, who smiled and took it gratefully.

“Thank you, love,” he said, quickly spooning up a bite with a piece of strawberry on it and blowing on it. “Looks amazing!”

“I hope so,” Lestrade laughed, spooning a bit up as well and blowing on it before taking a cautious bite. He gasped as his eyes watered and he forced the bite down. “Still… really hot,” he explained, panting slightly and waving a hand towards his mouth to cool it down. Mycroft chuckled and leaned across the table to peck Lestrade on the corner of the mouth.

“Careful, love,” he chided, sitting back and blowing on his spoonful some more. He took a bite and smiled as the creamy oatmeal ran over his tongue. “Thank you again, love. This is amazing.”

Lestrade nodded and the room fell silent. They finished their breakfasts quickly, placed their bowls in the sink and followed each other up stairs to get ready for the day. Lestrade dressed quickly as Mycroft used the bathroom and went through his routine, switching out when both were done. Lestrade was in the middle of brushing his teeth when Mycroft came into the room messaging his neck with one hand and straightening his tie with the other.

“I’ll be home around nine or so tonight,” Mycroft muttered, abandoning rubbing his neck to peck Lestrade on the cheek and place a light hand on the man’s hip. “Long day today; apparently the governors of Turkey and Greece are having some sort of issues again - God help me if they’re going to throw America in the mix and attempt to kick off World War Three.”

“A little dramatic, aren’t you, love?” Lestrade chuckled after spitting out his toothpaste and turning to lean against the counter and stare at Mycroft. “I’m sure it’s just some sort of trade issue or something of the sort; don’t worry too much or stress yourself out over it. You’ll figure it out without too many problems, I know it.”

“Thanks,” Mycroft said halfheartedly as Lestrade reached up to fix his tie just an inch. “I’ll text you later. Maybe I can sneak out in time to meet you on your lunch break.”

“That sounds nice,” Lestrade smiled, pecking Mycroft on the lips gently before the other man pulled away.

“I’ll text you, then,” he said, smiling at his lover and heading out of the room. He went down to his car and climbed in, telling the driver to start towards work.

He leaned back into the seat of the darkened window car, closing his eyes and breathing heavily. He felt his throat tightening up and fought back the tickling urge to cough loudly. His cough has been getting worse over the past few days, becoming more and more frequent and harder and harder to control. He hated it – not being in control of his body at all times. It made him feel weak even if it was something as stupid and small as a cough. He had to maintain control, no matter what it was. It was just the way he was.

So when he was forced to double over as his chest tightened up and he was thrown into a coughing fit, he cursed every god that he could possibly think of for putting him through this little slice of personal hell. After a good five minutes, when he was finally able to sit up straight, he leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. His chest was heaving for air and the gasps he took were short and wheezing-like. It took him longer than it should have to catch his breath, soon throwing him into another coughing fit that lasted until they pulled into the parking lot of his office.

He took a few wheezing gulps of air, blinked, sighed, and pushed himself out of the car. His briefcase was in his right hand which flexed around the handle. He willed all cough attacks down as he moved swiftly towards his office, waving off Anthea on the way to get to his office faster. The elevator dinged on his office floor and he stepped out, moving quickly down the hallway and shutting the door to his office once he was inside. He leaned against the hard oak wood as another coughing fit took him over, leaving him to double over and all but throw his breakfast up. 

Once he could breath normally again, Mycroft went over to his desk and sat down heavily. He dropped his head into his hands and stared at the green mat on his desk. He could feel the room spinning around him and closed his eyes, willing the world to just stop for a moment and let him get back to normal. Unfortunately, the universe didn't answer his wish and a soft knock came from his door, followed by the small clicking noise of Anthea's high heels as she let herself into the room. 

"Sir?" she asked, taping away at her phone as she spoke, not looking up at her boss. This gave Mycroft the few seconds he needed to raise his head and fix his tie, making himself more presentable. "Your meeting is in ten minutes. Shall I let them know you'll be ready?"

"Please," Mycroft said, nodding, his voice not as strong.

Anthea raised her head to look at her boss. She was one of the few people who could read Mycroft well, and Mycroft knew this, so he put on his best face and waited for her to leave. She nodded when she seemed satisfied and turned on her heels to leave the room, her attention back on her phone.

"Ten minutes, sir," she said over her shoulder before the door could close. 

Mycroft waited until he could no longer hear the click of heels before pulling his top desk drawer open. He pulled out a small bottle of pills and downed three of them, hoping to help the spinning of the room. When it did slow down, he stood, moved over to the mirror he had in his office and fixed his tie. He tucked a few strands of hair behind his ear, making his hair perfectly pulled back and slick. 

Moving back over to his desk, Mycroft opened his top desk drawer and pulled out a small pile of papers, placing them neatly in his brief case and locking them inside. Once he was sure everything was perfect, he locked his office door behind him and started down the long hallway, going over his speech in his head and major key points that he was going to have to go over. His stomach was cramping up slightly but it was nothing he couldn't ignore. Right now, the meeting was the most important thing, no matter what Mycroft was coming down with. 

He made it to the conference room at the end of the hallways and pushed the door open, seeing two other men in neatly pressed business suits sitting at the long red wood table, brief cases laying open next to their folded hands.   
Mr. Kaya, the Turkish governor, and Mr. Balli, the Greek governor, both turned towards Mycroft as he entered. 

"Evening, gentlemen," Mycroft greeted, nodding at the two of them before taking his own seat. 

" 'Ello, Mr. Holmes," Mr. Balli greeted, Mr. Kaya just nodding his hello. "Shall we get started?"

"Please," Mycroft waved to the front of the room where a projector was all set up. Mr. Balli bowed his head and stood, taking his place at the projector. 

As he started his power point, Mycroft leaned back in his chair and just listened, fighting the tickle in the back of his throat. He quietly tried to clear his throat, but nothing would get that small itch go away. It was difficult to concentrate the longer the power point went on, and Mycroft soon found himself more focused on not coughing than what Mr. Balli was actually saying. He had to pay attention, what Mr. Balli was saying was important. But that little tickle just wouldn't go away...

"Mr. Holmes?"

Mycroft snapped back to the power point at the sound of his name, Mr. Balli watching him with a raised eyebrow. Mycroft rubbed his eyes and silently scolded himself for letting himself get distracted by such a small thing. 

"My apologies," Mycroft said, straightening his back and squaring his shoulders, folding his hands on the table. 

"Are you alright? You seem to be sweating quit a bit," Mr. Kaya said from beside him. Mycroft whipped his brow with the hanky he kept in his suit pocket. "And your breathing is a bit... abnormal."

"My apologies, I assure you, I am fine," Mycroft said even though his body was screaming otherwise. The temperature in the room seemed to be raising very quickly and he could feel his suit becoming warmer and warmer. "I just- don't feel at the top of my game at the moment. Please, do continue with what you were saying, Mr. Balli."

"Right. As I was saying-"

Mycroft did his best to listen to Mr. Balli as the room seemed to get hotter and hotter. He could feel his suit start to cling to his body and his hands become clammy. Breathing was becoming labored and the room seemed to be getting smaller and smaller with every moment that ticked by. He pulled at his suit collar, trying to drag more oxygen into his lungs but all that he could feel was a burning flame in his chest. Sweat was trickling down his brow and he whipped at it as nonchalantly as he could manage. 

"Mr. Holmes-"

The room seemed to be getting smaller and tighter as Mycroft fought for oxygen. He stood, pacing to a window and pushing it open, hoping for a cool breeze to come through and take this fire out of his lungs, but all that came through was the warm London air. 

"Mr. Holmes-"

The room was too small, the walls too close together. It was all Mycroft could do to move away from the window before they closed around him and his vision went black.


	15. Chapter 15

Greg was sitting at his desk with a pile of paper work in front of him, a pen in his hand as he read the documents and filled out the blanks. He didn't know how Mycroft did it. How could he do a job that was basically _made_ of paper work and sitting still? It was torture for Greg but he knew he had to do it, otherwise the case wouldn't be complete. It was really the only downfall for being a DI.

Glancing at the clock, Greg saw he still had about two and a half hours till his lunch break; too freaking long if you asked him, but there was nothing he could do about it. So he continued to push through the paper work, sheet after sheet, word after word. When his phone beeped with an incoming call, he absently reached for his desk phone.

"Hello?"

When no one answered, his mind snapped to the fact that the phone ringing was coming from his pocket. He set his desk phone down and dug his mobile out of his pocket, not recognizing the number and flipping the phone open to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Yes, is this Mr. Greg Lestrade?" came a female's voice from over the line.

"Yes, this is him. May I ask who's calling?" Greg asked, leaning back in his chair and placing the pen on his desk.

"This is Savanna Golden from Saint Bart's hospital. Your number was listed as the emergency number for a Mr. Mycroft Holmes," said Savanna, the sound of people rushing by just barely heard over the line in the background.

"Yes, what happened? Is he alright?" Greg's heart stopped as Savanna told him what happened. Before she even finished her sentence, Greg was pulling his coat on over his shoulders and telling Donovan to find someone to finish the paper work, rushing to the elevator to get to his car. "I'll be there in ten minutes. Thank you so much for calling me."

Greg hung up the phone and pulled his car keys out as he impatiently waited for the doors to the elevator to open to the lobby. The moment they did, he took off running for his car, unlocking it and quickly climbing in. Pulling out of the parking space, he pulled into the traffic and started to make his way to Saint Bart's hospital.

\----------

Greg rushed up to the desk on the third floor and rang the bell, tapping his foot impatiently for a nurse to come up and help him. When one finally did, he signed his name on the badge and asked to be pointed to Mycroft's room at once.

He rushed down the hall towards room 354, passing doctors and nurses as well as patients in wheel chairs. He didn't bother knocking as he jogged into the room, Mycroft's bed surrounded by a doctor and three nurses.

"Is he alright, what's going on?" Greg asked, moving up to the side of the bed and seeing Mycroft laying there, his eyes closed and his face pale. He turned his gaze to the doctor, his name tag reading Doctor Whitman.

"We're running a few tests to see what's going on," Doctor Whitman said, flipping a page on his clipboard. "But his breathing sounded a bit labored. We should have a better idea of what happened in about an hour, if you care to stick around Mr..... Lestrade."

"Thank you, doctor," Greg nodded, looking at him than at the three nurses.

The nurses left, leaving just Greg and the doctor alone with Mycroft. Greg sat on the side of Mycroft's bed and took the hand that didn't have the little needle in it. He caressed the back of it and watched Mycroft's face carefully, looking for any sign of movement or twitch that would tell him that he would be okay.

"Mr. Lestrade?" the doctor asked, Lestrade's mind still only focused on Mycroft as he absently acknowledged the doctor. "May I ask your relationship with Mr. Holmes?"

"He's my boyfriend," Greg answered absently over his shoulder. He continued to caress Mycroft's hand with his thumb as the doctor spoke.

"Interesting," Doctor Whitman breathed, tapping his pen on the clipboard. The way he hissed that word made Greg lift his head and look up at him. Whitman was looking at them with a scrunched up nose and a distasteful look on his face.

"Does that bother you?" Greg growled, anger raising in his chest as the doctor huffed.

"I don't understand why you guys would participate in something so... inhuman," the doctor huffed, rolling his eyes. "But if that's what you guys would like to waste your life on... I cannot stop you. Just know that you shall both be in Hell, where you belong."

Greg stood up from the bed and got in Whitman's face faster than Whitman had time to flinch. Greg backed him into the wall, the clipboard clattering to the floor and the pen rolling away.

"You _dare_ insult us?" Greg growled, anger turning his face red. "I could get you fired for saying things like that. I demand we get a different doctor that isn't so shallow minded and heartless."

Doctor Whitman glared down his nose at Lestrade before sliding away and picking up his clipboard. "Fine, I shall get a different doctor for you. I don't want to work with two faggots anyway."

Whitman left before Greg would go after him, leaving Greg completely alone with a very pale, very dead looking Mycroft. He sat down next to his lover and took his hand again, examining his face as he went back to stroking his thumb over the back of his hand.

"M-Mycroft?" Greg said slowly, getting tired of the quiet and just wanting to talk. He felt like, even though Mycroft was unresponsive, his lover could hear him. That, maybe if he talks, Mycroft will wake up knowing that Greg was at his side. "They say- they say that people in a coma can still hear their loved ones if they talk to them."

Greg shook his head and looked at the hospital door. It was shut and nurses passed by outside in a rush to other rooms. This was stupid, as if Mycroft could really hear him. Or, even if he did, he wouldn't remember anything that he said. But he couldn't help himself. It just made him feel like Mycroft was still awake.

"This is crazy-" Greg muttered, shaking his head. "- but if you can hear me, just tell me what's going on. They said your breathing sounded labored, you don't think-" Greg stopped, his heart dropping at the thought. He shook it from his head before continuing. "No, no, it can't be. You're going to be fine. Your bronchitis is just... it's back, that's all it is. I'm going to- I'm going to go call John and Sherlock. They'll want to know what's going on. I'll be back."

With one last look over Mycroft's face, Greg stood from the bed and slowly made his way out into the hallway. No one was out there except for the occasional nurse or doctor. Pulling out his phone, Greg quickly typed in John's phone number; he waited for the other man to answer his phone on the third ring.

"Hello?" came John's cheerful voice as usual. "Greg? What's up?"

"Hi, John. Listen, I-" Greg paused for a moment to collect himself and make sure his voice was strong enough before continuing. "Listen, I need you to get Sherlock and sit down for a moment. I need to talk to you guys. It's about Mycroft."

"Oh, man, is he okay? Hold on, I'll grab Sherlock."

Greg heard John call out for Sherlock to come down to the kitchen and that it was important, followed by a very loud complaint by the consulting detective. Loud, stomping footsteps came down the stairs off in the distance and a scraping of the chair signaled that Sherlock and John had taken a seat across from each other at the table.

"I have you on speaker, Greg-"

"What the hell is this about? I was in the middle of something important. I don't understand why you're wasting my time," Sherlock huffed, John sighing as he watched his boyfriend roll his eyes and cross his arms across his chest.

"You're being a child, love. Greg said something happened to Mycroft, and you know he wouldn't call and ask for both of us if it wasn't important. Now please, for once, act your age and at least pretend to care about your brother," John scolded, jabbing a finger at the sulking detective. He turned back to phone, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Sorry about that, Greg. What's going on?"

"We don't know for sure, but-"

"You _don't know_?" Sherlock interrupted, raising an eyebrow before snorting. "This is a joke-"

"Sherlock, bloody hell, shut up!" John snapped.

Greg waited while the two men bickered, sounding ironically like an old married couple. John told him to continue after a heavy sigh and Sherlock fell silent for once in his life after John told him to "stop being a heartless, selfish bitch and to grow some."

"Um... right, so Mycroft passed out apparently in the middle of a meeting. The doctor that we had said that his breathing was labored. They are doing some tests now to find out exactly what happened, but otherwise, we don't know," Greg said, running his hand through his hair as he spoke.

"Oh my- is he at St. Bart's?" John asked, Sherlock leaning back in his chair. John felt a prick of annoyance at his lover as he didn't seem to care about his brother, but he'd deal with that after he hung up with Greg. The man didn't need to deal with any more of their bickering.

"Yeah, he is. You guys don't want to come down right now, though, trust me," Greg sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I have to go argue with the doctors to get a new one."

"Oh? What happened?" John asked, raising an eyebrow at Sherlock as he huffed.

"The doctor we had had a problem with us being together," Greg growled into the phone. "Said that we were wasting our time and we'd go to Hell. It was shit. I just don't want to have to deal with that kind of person. Especially not if something is seriously wrong with Mycroft. I want the best care for him."

"I understand. Well, let me come down there and I'll help you sort it out. I know more about how that system works and I know one of the doctors there, he should be the best for Mycroft, he's very good and knows just what he's doing."

"Alright, I'll see you in a bit than. I'll be in Mycroft's room, so just come find us when you're here. Are you bringing Sherlock?"

"Yeah, I will. If anything we can get him to bitch at the doctors till they get one that will work with us," John chuckled, Sherlock huffing again in the background. "And he'll help, too. _Right_ , Sherlock?"

"I don't understand why I should care if-"

" _Sherlock_."

"Fine!" Sherlock caved, rolling his eyes. "I know, I know. _Because he's my brother_ , right? Social protocol and all that."

"Exactly. Glad you finally got that down, love," John cooed. "Anyway, Greg, we'll be down in about twenty minutes."

"See you than."

\----------

"Come on, Sherlock," John said, pulling the sulking detective along behind him as they made their way down to room 354.

They entered the room to find Greg sitting in the chair next to the bed, his head resting on his arm on the bed next to Mycroft as he slowly rubbed circles into the back of his hand. Mycroft looked pale and strange without his suit, instead wearing a hospital gown, but John pushed that aside for now. He dragged Sherlock into the room and released his lover's hand to place it on Greg's shoulder, the DI raising his head and looking at them.

"How's he doing?" John asked quietly, Sherlock making his way over to the window seat and throwing himself down on it, pressing his fingers to his lips, one of his legs dangling off the side. John just shook his head with a small smile at his lover before turning back to Greg.

"Nothing's changed," Greg muttered, turning back to Mycroft. "Who's your friend that works here? You never gave me a name."

"Doctor Whitman," John said, turning to press the nurse call button. "He's very nice; and his husband used to work with me in the army. Two very smart guys."

"Wait, husband?" Greg asked, anger bubbling up in his chest again. "That's the man that-"

"Yes, sir?" the nurse asked, cutting Greg off before he could finish his sentence.

"Could you get Doctor Whitman in here, please?" John asked with a polite smile. "Tell him Doctor Watson would like to speak to him."

The nurse nodded and went off to go find the doctor.

"John, he was the man that told us we were wasting our time," Greg growled, squeezing Mycroft's hand. "I don't want him in here again."

"Doctor Whitman? He couldn't, he has a husband of his own. Why would he tell you that?"

"Obvious," Sherlock piped up from the window, his eyes closed and his mouth barely moving at the word.

"Oh?" Greg asked, feeling close to snapping if Sherlock decided now to interrupt with one of his smart ass remarks. "Do explain."

Sherlock sighed and elegantly swung his legs over the edge so he could sit up and look between John and Greg, than back at John, of course.

"He obviously went through a very rough divorce," Sherlock sighed as though telling this to them was boring and as tedious as explaining why the sky was blue to a child. "Obviously that turned him off of men and, more than likely, on to woman. Isn't that what happened to you Lestrade, but the other way around?"

Greg thought about it for a moment. He did only start dating Mycroft after that break up with his ex-wife. Was that why? Did that really turn him off of woman?

"Well, I- I mean, I don't know for sure if _that's_ why, but-"

"You can't tell me my brother is just so hot that you'd leave woman forever in order to live out your life with him," Sherlock said in a flat tone, raising an eyebrow at Greg.

"I mean, he is amazing, but-"

"I don't want to hear it," Sherlock stopped him, waving a hand. "I don't need to know what you think of my brother. Point is, Whitman is just going through a divorce and is probably pissed that you guys are working and they didn't."

"What do you think he'll say when he finds out I'm gay?" John asked, chuckling quietly. Sherlock just raised an eyebrow at his lover and John chuckled again. "Well, I am. I don't really even look at woman anymore. It's been almost a year and a half since we've got together, it's amazing, really. I've never been this happy with someone for this long; it's nice."

"Nor have I," Sherlock muttered, watching John carefully. "I've never dated before, you know that. It's... nice."

"It's been almost two years since Mycroft and I got together," Greg muttered, watching his lover's face as John went over to sit next to Sherlock and put his arm around his waist. "It's been... amazing. He understands me, you know? None of my wives ever understood my work hours, but he does. It's really great having someone to come home to and not have issues to argue about."

"Have you guys talked about kids?" Sherlock asked, the question sounding strange coming from the detective. Even John turned to stare at his lover.

"Yes, we have," Greg nodded, laughing quietly. "But we agreed to wait till later to talk about it. When we're a little closer to being ready, you know?"

Sherlock just nodded and John took the opportunity to ask, "Why do you want to know, love? Do you want kids?"

Sherlock didn't answer right away, which interested Greg. He was sure the detective would answer no right away, but he seemed to be really thinking about it.

"It's not... out of the question," Sherlock muttered, as though it was embarrassing. "Mommy always wanted grandkids and I guess I always liked the idea of... raising a child to be a genius like myself. When I started dating you, John, the idea came up again, and I started researching ways to, somehow, get both of our genes in a child. Have your looks and my brains, you know? And Mycroft always talked about having- well, he always said he'd like to have a kid like me when I was around ten or so. But once he got together with you, Greg, I knew it was never going to happen. He wanted one the... natural way, you know? No science."

"Is that why he was against having one?" Greg muttered, looking back at Mycroft. "Is there a way to get both our genes in a baby, Sherlock?"

"In a way, yes. It's difficult and expensive, mind you, but it's possible. And you need a carrier, you know? A woman to raise the sperm."

"Maybe one day, than," Greg smirked.

He was going to say more, and he saw John wanted to say something, but a nurse walked in just than and they all paused to look at her.

"I'm sorry, sir, but Doctor Whitman went home half an hour ago. I'm afraid he won't be back till tomorrow. I'll have to ask all of you to leave, as well; visiting hours are over."

John nodded and he and Sherlock stood to leave. Greg pressed a kiss to Mycroft's forehead and squeezed his hand gently one last time.

"I'll be back tomorrow after work, love," he promised before turning and following John and Sherlock out.


	16. Chapter 16

John and Sherlock got in a cab to head home after saying goodbye to Greg. Sherlock told the cabbie the address before settling back in his seat and turning to John, smirking.

"I can tell you want to tell me something, you know?" he mused. "Am I correct in assuming that it's about what I said up in Mycroft's room about a kid?"

"Yeah, why haven't you told me this?" John asked, leaning in a little closer to Sherlock and turning his body to face him. "I mean, we've been together for a year and a half and you never mentioned a thing about a kid. If you want one, we can-"

"This is why I didn't tell you," Sherlock sighed, cutting John off. "I didn't want one so early. I wanted to wait till we agreed we could take our relationship to the next level. Till we could marry and be bound to each other. Than I was going to talk about it."

"I see," John muttered, deep in thought. "Did you want to get married?"

"One day," Sherlock nodded, looking out the window over John's shoulder before looking at him. "But not yet. I want to wait till the time is right. At least till two years pass. I want us to be sure that it'll work between us."

"I understand," John smiled and pressed a gentle kiss to Sherlock's lips. "It's nice to think about, though. Together, a kid running around; we'd have to get a babysitter so we can still run after criminals. I mean, we wouldn't stop taking cases just because we have a kid, would we?"

Sherlock looked at John for a moment, an eyebrow raised in question. " _I_ wouldn't," he muttered slowly, watching John for a reaction. "I figured you would want to stay at the flat and watch him or her. I never thought you'd still come with me."

"You think that I'd let you go out and have all the fun just because we have a child? No, you're not getting rid of me that easy," John smiled, nudging Sherlock with his shoulder. He always thought about having a kid and settling down, it's always been what he wanted to do since he was old enough to date. Find a nice girl, get married, get her pregnant, go through those nine magical months before settling down and raising the family that he's always dreamed about. But now that he was with Sherlock, he didn't want to settle down. He wanted a kid still, sure, but he wanted to run. He wanted the rush of a case; he wanted to chase Sherlock all over London and never stop. He wanted to be shot at, be on the edge of danger and his life, than come home and raise the family of his dreams with Sherlock by his side and maybe a little boy. Maybe one that wants to be a pirate so Sherlock could play with him. A smart little boy who has an interest in science. One that Sherlock could teach everything he knows to. The more John thought about it, the more he wanted it to happen. "You're not getting rid of me at all."

Sherlock just smiled at John. He could tell that John was deep in thought by the far off tone that last sentence took, the glint in John's eye as he stared out the window past Sherlock and watched the buildings blur by. "I wouldn't dream of it," he muttered, pulling John close to his side and turning to see where they were. They weren't far from 221B, only a few more minutes away, and Sherlock had never been so happy to be almost home. He had a couple plans he wanted to carry out.

When the cabbie pulled up to 221B, Sherlock had the money ready and handed it over to the man. He gave John a gentle nudge to get him out of the cab and followed suit, following John up to the front door and waiting, impatiently, as his lover fiddled with the key and lock. Sherlock made his way up to their flat and opened the door for John, the two of them shedding their coats and hanging them on the coat rack. Sherlock shed his scarf and wrapped it around John's shoulders before the good doctor could take more than a step towards the kitchen. Sherlock tightened the scarf around his lover and pulled him back slightly, leaning forward so his mouth was right by John's ear.

"And where do you think you're going?" he whispered, a smirk spreading across his lips as he heard John gasp softly. He slid the scarf down John's arms till it held them firmly against John's side, knotting it behind him and turning John around to face him. "I thought you said I'm not getting rid of you that easily."

"I was- well, I thought you'd like some tea, but... Well-" John stammered, testing the binding and looking up at Sherlock with eyes just edged with lust. "Looks like I can't very well do much, now does it?"

"Not at all," Sherlock whispered, leaning closer to John's ear and circling the shell. He dipped his tongue into John's ear, the slightly bitter taste of ear wax nothing opposed to the gasp he got from his blogger. He knew that that was always a weak spot for John, the feeling of the wet muscle sliding and pushing in his ear a sensational one. As he pushed harder, trying to wiggle his tongue in farther, John shivered and moaned in Sherlock's grasp. He pulled at the binding and moaned Sherlock's name quietly as Sherlock removed his tongue and ran a stripe down John's neck to the edge of his shirt. "This needs to come off," Sherlock growled, tugging the fabric gently.

"H-how? My arms are t-tied," John muttered, breathing heavily as his member bulged obviously from his crotch. He shifted on his feet and watched Sherlock as he smiled evilly.

"Allow me," Sherlock whispered, pulling the fabric up. He worked the fabric under the scarf and over John's head, letting it land around John's elbows behind him so his chest was completely exposed except for the small strip of scarf that bound him. John whimpered as Sherlock dipped lower and licked at one of John's half-hard nipples, John bucking into the mouth that quickly surrounded it.

"G-god, Sherlock," John moaned, his eyes closing as his head tilted back and his mouth fell open. He panted quietly as Sherlock finished lapping at the first nipple and moved over to start on the other one, his hand coming up to tease the first one to keep it hard and erect.

"Bathroom, now," Sherlock growled around John's nipple, nipping and sucking on the little pink lump.

"Bathroom?" John questioned, allowing Sherlock to stand up in front of him and start backing him towards the stairs. "Why the bathroom? Why not the bedroom?"

"I want to try something," Sherlock said, purposely leaving details out as he backed his lover up the stairs, pressing sloppy kisses to his lips. "Just trust me."

John nodded and allowed Sherlock to steer him into the bathroom, shutting the door behind them. Sherlock turned John around and undid the knot, slipping John's shirt off completely before retying his hands. He spun John back to face him and started on the buttons of his trousers, undoing them slowly before letting them fall to the ground. Sherlock slipped his shirt off over his head before letting his own trousers fall until they were both standing there with only their pants on.

Sherlock stepped up to John so their bodies were close together and slowly pushed John's pants down over his erection, allowing it to spring free and hit Sherlock in the low stomach. Sherlock smirked before releasing his own erection to rub against John's, John moaning quietly.

"Now," Sherlock whispered, pushing John towards the tub they had in their bathroom. Sherlock had John step over the edge, following right behind him, and positioned them so John was facing the doorway of the bathroom, Sherlock behind him. "I want you on your knees. I'll help you so you don't fall."

John nodded and slowly fell to his knees, Sherlock balancing him since he couldn't do it himself. Sherlock pressed one hand on John's shoulder till he was doubled over the edge of the tub, his hands tied behind his back and his face almost touching the bathroom rug. His hips were flush against the tub edge and his erection as pressing painfully into the tub wall.

"Sh-Sherlock?" John asked, Sherlock's touch disappearing from his back. He tried to look over his shoulder but couldn't see past his arm, Sherlock completely from his view. "Sherlock?"

"Just relax, John," Sherlock muttered, getting down on his own knees behind John and placing his hands on the inside of John's thighs. "You're going to be fine. You just tell me if you want me to stop, you know that."

John nodded and turned his head back to face the floor. Sherlock smiled at how beautiful John looked like this before he slowly ran his hands up and down inside John's tights, John shivering slightly at the touch. Gently, Sherlock spread John's legs apart, his ass spreading apart slowly and opening up right in front of Sherlock. The sight was gorgeous and Sherlock couldn't help but lean forward and dip his tongue into the tight ring of muscles. He heard John gasp just as he was pulling his tongue out and smiled to himself as he sat back up. He slipped a finger into his own mouth and sucked it gently, running his tongue over it a couple times and getting it nice and wet. He popped it out of his lips, took a moment to look over John and just how he was perfectly draped over the edge of the tub.

Lining up his slicked up finger with John's entrance, Sherlock slowly circled it, opening the muscle and getting it nice and wet. "You ready, love?" he asked to John, who nodded quickly just before Sherlock pushed in his first finger. John bucked forward and whimpered quietly as his erection rubbed, painfully, against the tub wall. Skin against plastic didn't rub very well, more of just a painful pulling feeling that left John wishing Sherlock would just jerk him off already. Yet, as Sherlock pushed that first finger up to the second knuckle, John couldn't think of anything but having Sherlock's erection buried deep inside him. He clenched around Sherlock's finger for show before relaxing his muscles in a begging way to get Sherlock to push in even farther.

Sherlock bit his lower lip as John clenched around his finger, unclenching and relaxing as if to tell Sherlock he wanted more. Slowly, Sherlock pulled his first finger all the way out only to replace it with two, pushing them slowly into John as the man withered under him. John's muscles were so tight around his fingers, slowly pulsing slightly around Sherlock as he paused.

"Sherlock, please, move," John muttered, unable to buck back due to his position over the tub. Sherlock must have really thought this one through. With his hands tied, John couldn't very well move back and get Sherlock deeper in him while at the same time he couldn't really buck forward due to his damp sweaty skin on the tubs edge. John thought if he could get his stomach sweaty that he'd be able to slide on the tubs edge, but the opposite effect had occurred and now he was just trapped there for Sherlock to go as slowly as he wished.

Sherlock nodded even though John couldn't very well see and started moving his finger once again, pumping slowly in and out and watching as John shivered against the feelings. He spread his fingers inside of John, opening him up even wider until he could just barely force a third in there, John moaning in slight pain at the intrusion.

"How far do you want me to go?" Sherlock asked, running his free hand along John's inward thigh. He brushed his hand against John's balls, the sensation making John shiver, and watched as the man tried to answer.

"Uh-" John moaned, his mind having been numb ever since Sherlock slipped a finger inside of him. He only wanted to _feel_ , not think. But he knew Sherlock always asked questions, made sure he was doing everything right. Sherlock may be a genius, but this was still his first relationship and first sex life. His innocent questions were just a way to hide that he still wasn't one-hundred percent sure what he was doing, but John would never tell Sherlock he knew that. "K-keep going. I want to be-be filled by you, Sherlock. Feel uncomfortable for days afterwards. P-Please, Sher-Sherlock."

Sherlock just smirked as John begged, he sounded so amazing begging and panting that Sherlock just wanted to fuck him ten times over. He knew he could, and maybe one day he would, but for now, he had different plans.

"It's going to hurt a bit, love," Sherlock muttered, running his hand along John's inside thigh to alert him that he was going to continue going.

John nodded and Sherlock turned back to moving his fingers. Slowly, he spread his fingers apart, stretching John and slowly working him open. He watched as the muscles turned red and as John's hole opened for him, John withering underneath him and moaning his name quietly. As John began to calm down and the muscles relaxed slightly, Sherlock pushed in a fourth finger to the final knuckle and paused, letting John's body get used to the new intuition. John whimpered at the pressure. He tried to buck forward again but couldn't so much as move his hips. His erection throbbed from the little attention it was getting and he desperately needed to be touched.

"S-Sherlock- Please, touch me... please..." John begged, trying to get his hands free of the scarf that still held them. If Sherlock wasn't going to touch him than he was going to have to. The throbbing was painful and his erection pressed awkwardly against the tub wall. All he wanted was just a little bit of release.

"In time, John," Sherlock muttered, starting to move his fingers. He moved slowly, pulling them almost all the way out before shoving them back in. John's hips moved as much as they could with Sherlock's fingers, but his skin was keeping him from moving so much that he could fuck himself on Sherlock's fingers. It was helpful and worked so much more in Sherlock's favor, which, of course, he liked. "For now, just feel."

"But-"

"Don't talk," Sherlock cut him off, quickly pushing all four fingers into John and pushing as hard as he could. "Just feel me in you. Enjoy it."

"I am," John moaned, pushing forward as much as he could, his hips pressed against even harder against the tub. He could feel his skin turning red and tried to shift till it was comfortable. "I just need-"

Sherlock pulled his fingers completely out of John, John stopping in his sentence and trying to turn to look Sherlock. "What do you need?" Sherlock asked, wrapping his hand around himself and pulling up slowly.

"Y-you," John muttered, testing the bonds again. They were tight and weren't coming loose any time soon. Sherlock really did a good job on the knots. "Touch me..."

"In time," Sherlock repeated, chuckling quietly. He lined himself up with John and pushed the head of his erection between John's spread cheeks.

He rubbed himself against John's hole for a moment, the dry feeling a nice change from the wet slip of the normal spit or come. John was clenching and unclenching - voluntarily or not, Sherlock couldn't tell - against Sherlock's erection. Biting his lip till he could taste just a hint of blood, Sherlock pushed himself in until his head was completely submerged, the ring of muscle squeezing him and trying to pull him in deeper. Sherlock's paused for a moment, John squirming underneath him, before pushing farther in, moving slowly and arching his back. His hands were placed firmly on John's hips, his nails digging into John's skin, sure to leave tiny little red half-moons in their trace.

John moaned and his mouth fell open as the ring of tight, aching muscle was breached. Sherlock felt large, painful even, as he pushed in dryly. Skin against skin with nothing to slick it up was a little more on the painful side than pleasure, but nevertheless, John loved the feeling of Sherlock pushing farther and farther into him. He could feel Sherlock's erection filling him to the maximum point, and his erection poking the walls of his insides as, slowly - agonizingly slow - Sherlock pushed himself deeper.

Once Sherlock was balls deep, his hips flush against John's, Sherlock stopped. John's muscles were pulsing around him, squeezing his cock and trying to push the intrusion out. That, alone, felt amazingly wonderful. It felt like John's hole was stroking his erection and it was gradually building his orgasm deep in the pit of his stomach. Warmth was balling up and his own muscles started to throb for attention. His entrance clenched tightly as John's did, Sherlock doubling over and pressing his chest to John's back.

Sherlock lifted the hand that he didn't finger John with and put it behind him, gently circling his entrance and teasing the muscle into submission. That almost worked, his muscles did open up slightly for him, but they didn't stop pulsing. Buried deep inside of John, Sherlock braced himself and pushed a single, dry finger up to the second knuckle. He growled at the intrusion, the finger difficult to work in there on the dryness. John's ass was pressed hard against his thighs and it was becoming a dull red from where Sherlock was pushing on it so tightly.

"Wh-what are you doing?" John asked, panting heavily. He felt Sherlock's hand leave his hip and than heard Sherlock growl above him. He didn't know what he could be doing; all he knew was that that growl sounded so low and sexy even John was more turned on than before, if that was at all possible.

Sherlock grunted again and took a deep breath, his eyes fluttering closed. "What does it sound like?" he murmured, pushing his finger in to the last knuckle and bending it slightly. He moved it around for a moment before pulling it back and shoving it back in.

"I-I-" John stammered before he bit his lip and closed his eyes, his mind finally piecing it all together. "Are you... fingering?"

Sherlock hummed a yes and pulled his finger back again. He bent it a few times, trying to stretch the muscle around it. Once he felt it was as open as it was going to get, Sherlock pushed in a second finger, a stinging pain following before the pulsing pleasure coursed through his body. He gasped and doubled over John, his chest flush against his back. He pulled back and slipped almost all the way out of John before slamming back in, shoving his fingers back in as well and sending shivers all the way up and down his spine.

"G-god... John..." Sherlock panted, his body overwhelmed by the amount of sensations it was receiving. "Y-you... God..."

John would have chuckled as the incoherence of Sherlock's sentences had he not have been doubled over the tub and being slammed into at the same time. At the moment, Sherlock's inability to form complete sentences still made him sound like a complete genius, considering he couldn't even get out anything but, "Nahhhh, Sherlock," in return. Had they both been off the sex-high, they would be having at good laugh at how stupid they both must sound. Instead, the noises and gasps only increased the eagerness and urgent-ness that was building between them. Sherlock picked up the pace in his pumping, slamming into John as hard and as deeply as he could, seemingly trying to work his way deeper into John's ass. He also fingered himself faster, shoving four fingers in as soon as he pulled the two that he had, out. The pain was blinding but the pleasure that soon followed was priceless and very, very worth it.

"I... I want- fist..." Sherlock muttered, his four fingers sliding in and out easily as he ground his hips into John's ass, trying to bury himself in farther.

"F-fist?" John muttered, his teeth digging into his bottom lip so hard he could taste the copper hint of blood.

"I want... fist myself..." Sherlock growled, lining up his thumb to his already filled hole. He began to stretch the muscle, spreading his four other fingers as much as he could and groaning in the process. Once he felt he cold fit the fifth, he pushed it in slowly, pausing in his movement within John to growl a deep growl into John's shoulder blade. "Jesus!"

"Sh-Sherlock..." John muttered, his heart leaping at the thought of Sherlock's fist buried inside of the man. "I'm... I'm close... Please..."

Sherlock worked the muscle open, his fingers spreading and stretching, working the ring of muscle around the final knuckle and down his hand. His fist was submerged completely into the tight heat and he balled it, a loud gasp leaving his lips. "So-So am I... God!"

Sherlock could feel his orgasm building, shifting down to his balls and making them tingle in warmth and anticipation. He could feel the release coming quickly and he could tell John was close too, his muscle squeezing his erection as they tightened and clamped down. A few more deep thrusts later, Sherlock was coming hard into John, his fist still buried deep inside himself.

"Fuck!" John groaned as his orgasm took over his body. He shook violently and come went all over the tub wall, his muscles clenching down hard on Sherlock. "Shit..."

Sherlock collapsed on top of John and lay there a moment, enjoying the tightening and loosening feel of John's ass as his muscles tried to push the intrusion out. A few minutes passed before Sherlock did so and pulled out, sitting back on his legs and yelping as his fist was pushed slightly deeper into him. It was going to sting to get out, Sherlock could tell.

With his free hand, Sherlock unknotted the scarf and released John's hands. John took a moment to get up from the tub edge and turned to Sherlock, seeing his hand still up his ass and his stomach coated in come. John smiled and nodded towards Sherlock's hand.

"Shut up," Sherlock muttered, shifting slightly and wincing. His ass was starting to tighten up again and he knew he had to get his fist out; the longer he waited, the more painful it would get.

"Can I help you?" John asked, shifting around Sherlock till he was behind him and rubbing his back.

Sherlock hesitated before nodding slowly. John pushed on Sherlock's shoulders till he was on his hands and knees, his stomach pressed to his thighs.

"You need to relax, love," John muttered, smirking to himself when he saw Sherlock's hand. His cock gave an interested twitch and his mind started going through the list of all the things he could do to Sherlock like this, but he calmed himself down and pushed Sherlock's legs apart. He didn't want his lover to be like this for too long, knowing how much it hurts to pull out. So he stretched his legs as far as they could go and slide a finger into his mouth, trying to get enough spit on it that he could rub it around Sherlock's wrist. The slickness would at least help the pain a little.

Once he had enough spit on his finger, he slid it as close to inside of Sherlock as he could, running it around the tight ring of muscle and slicking up Sherlock's wrist as much as he could. "This is going to hurt a bit, love," John warned, rubbing Sherlock's back with his free hand. "Start pulling out when you're ready."

After a few minutes of John directing Sherlock and continuously slicking him up - and a lot of grunting and moaning from the detective - Sherlock was able to pull his fist out and lean back against the wall, John next to him.

"I don't know about you," Sherlock muttered, shifting and wincing slightly. "But I could go for a shower right about now."

"Then bed?" John asked, pressing a kiss to Sherlock's cheek.

"Yes, most defiantly."

John stood and helped Sherlock stand up, the detective grunting at the effort. John chuckled lightly and scolded him jokingly about going too hard on himself. Sherlock just glared at him. After they both finished their showers, and dried off, they went straight to bed. Neither had the energy to do much else, let alone get clothes, so John just wrapped himself up in Sherlock's arms and fell to sleep almost at one.

"Night," he yawned, curling up closer. "Love you."

"Love you too, John," Sherlock muttered, carding his fingers through his lover's hair once, the blogger going to sleep almost at once. "Night."


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out what's been up with Mycroft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry it's been so long!
> 
> I'm going to try to upload more often, but school is finishing up and that's priority #1! Hope you understand!

Greg turned in his sleep and slowly opened his eyes. It was only around two in the morning and way too fucking early to be awake, but he couldn't help himself. He was laying in Mycroft's bed. In Mycroft's apartment. On Mycroft's sheets. With Mycroft's shirt on. You could easily guess the problem he was having. He turned again, his arm stretching out in the dark along the sheets but not finding the warm, loving body that it's used to finding on that side of the bed by now. The bed was just too cold and big without Mycroft there. 

_You should get used to it,_ something in the back of Greg's mind told him. _Mycroft could very well not be coming back. He could be dying and you won't know until tomorrow. He could have an incurable disease, something no one's seen before. You know he travels, he could have picked something uncommon up. It would be like Mycroft to make things complicated, get things that were complicated. Mycroft is complicated._

 _Shut up! Mycroft is and will be fine!_ Greg told himself. Squeezing his eyes shut and nibbling on is bottom lip. _He's under the best care that St. Bart can offer and we have John. He can get him whatever he needs. Not to mention, he probably has some high-class hospital filed in some secret place that only Anthea knows about. Somewhere that he can get anything and everything he'll ever need for anything. He'll be fine._

Greg sighed loudly. He wanted to believe it all. Wanted to think Mycroft would be fine, but he knew that there was still that possibility that he wouldn't be. Still that small chance that he could have something serious that would need intense care and treatment and would take a toll on both of them. 

He turned over again and wrapped himself tightly into his blankets and pillows, burying himself as deeply as he could and closing his eyes. He had to sleep. Sleep would pass time. The more time he passed, the sooner he'd be at Mycroft's side, and the sooner he might know what's going on with his lover. 

So with a lot of difficulty, Greg relaxed and let him mind go blank. After the longest few minutes of his life, Greg was finally able to fall asleep; curled up in his blankets and sheets and pretending it was Mycroft holding him. 

\----------

Greg woke up at seven in the morning to his phone going off. It was John. He picked it up, flipped it open, and pressed it to his ear. " 'ello?"

"Greg? Hey, if you want to come down to the hospital I was able to talk one of the nurses I know here to let us in early. We're already in the room with Mycroft and he's awake."

Greg was up and out of bed before John even finished his sentence. "He's awake?" Greg asked, his stomach flipping and a smile crossing his face. Him being awake was a step in the right direction. It renewed hope in Greg. Maybe Mycroft would be alright. "Tell him I'll be down soon. God, I'm so glad he's awake!"

"He can't wait to see you," John said, nodding towards Mycroft to let him know Greg was on his way. "We'll see you soon. Bye, Greg."

John hung up the phone and turned back to Sherlock and Mycroft. Sherlock was sitting on the window seat and was talking quietly with Mycroft. John joined his lover on the seat and Sherlock draped an arm around his shoulders. 

"You said you remembered Greg talking to you?" Sherlock was saying, Mycroft shifting himself so he could sit up a little better in the bed. It took more effort than he'd like to admit. 

"Yeah, I do. He was saying something about my bronchitis; but first he started to say that maybe it was something else. I don't think that he mentioned what it was, I think he cut off before he did, but I think it is something different," Mycroft said, looking at both Sherlock and John. His voice was weak and quiet, and his breathing was still labored slightly. 

"How so?" John asked. "I mean, why would you think that?" 

"Well," Mycroft sighed, thinking for a moment before continuing. "Before, with my bronchitis, it just felt... different. I can't really explain it, but this doesn't feel like before. This feels... deeper, if that makes sense."

"Not really," Sherlock muttered, shaking his head. "How can it feel _deeper_?"

"I don't know, brother," Mycroft said. "It just does. I don't know why or how, but it feels like the bronchitis has just buried itself deeper into me. I don't really know how to explain it, Sherlock."

"Is it more painful?" John asked, frowning. "I mean, does it hurt?"

"A little, but not too much. But it feels like one of you is sitting on my chest when I breath, if that means anything."

There was a knock on the door and a nurse stood with a clipboard in the doorway. "You have a Mr. Greg Lestrade here for you, Mr. Holmes. He says he knows Mr. Watson?"

"Please, let him in," Mycroft said as John nodded.

The nurse nodded once and left the doorframe. A minute later, Greg was striding into the room and went straight to Mycroft's bed, sitting on the side and taking his hand. 

"Thank God you're alright, love," Greg muttered, squeezing his hand gently. "How are you feeling?" 

"Not great," Mycroft admitted, squeezing back but not as hard. "I feel weak and a little tired. I don't know what happened."

"I'm just glad you're awake."

"Lestrade," Sherlock piped up, standing from his seat and crossing to the other side of the bed, standing across from Lestrade and crossing his arms. "You said to Mycroft that you were possibly thinking that he had something besides bronchitis. Could you explain what you meant?"

"When did I say this?" Greg asked, tilting his head towards Sherlock and raising an eyebrow. 

"Yesterday, when Mycroft was first submitted into the hospital; apparently you talked to him while he was out."

"You remember that? You heard me?" Greg asked, turning back to Mycroft. The man nodded and Greg got a little bit pink in the face. "I-I... It was nothing. My mind was just skipping straight to the worst when I saw you laying there, Mycroft. I don't know what I was saying. Just forget it."

"Alright, Greg," Mycroft nodded, shooting Sherlock a glare that told him to just back off. "I'm glad you were here for me, though. Thank you."

Greg just smiled and squeezed Mycroft's hand again, leaning forward and pressing a light kiss to Mycroft's lip. "Of course."

"Mr. Holmes," a man said from the doorway. They all turned their attention to the doorway where Dr. Whitman stood, clipboard tucked under his arm. "Ah, and Mr. Watson, nice to see you again."

Greg tensed at once and stood from Mycroft's bed. "I thought I told you I wanted a different doctor," he growled, stepped between Dr. Whitman and Mycroft. John was by his side in a matter of a few seconds, shaking Dr. Whitman's hand with a smile on his face. 

"It's nice to see you again too, Dr. Whitman," John smiled, releasing the man's hand. "This is Sherlock, by the way," he motioned towards his lover, Sherlock standing and walking towards them, "my boyfriend."

"Boyfriend?" Dr. Whitman said, his smile fading quickly. He glared at Sherlock for a moment, and that moment was all he needed to set Sherlock off and running his mouth.

"Don't give me that glare, John told me all about your little marriage with your boyfriend. Did it not go so well? Sleeping around, was he? Came home each night smelling like a different man, played it off by saying it was someone from work. He must of worked with a lot of other people, huh? Maybe a doctor like yourself? I bet he was banging every male nurse he could find; hall closets, empty patient rooms, bathrooms, their houses, even. How'd it feel? You know, to walk in on him banging that lawyer? Someone who might even make more money than you? How'd it feel to walk in and see him stepping up in the world? Divorce happened next, obviously. You guys had a pretty big fight by the look of that scar just above your left ear. You try to cover it with your hair, but you're failing pretty badly. Last thing you have left, am I correct? And... by the looks of your clothes... I bet he's marrying that lawyer. And I bet you were invited. I bet that hurt. Hurt _deep_. Am I correct in assuming that's why you're so bitter to gays?"

Dr. Whitman was quiet for a long moment, just staring at Sherlock with a not so heated hatred burning in the corners of his eyes. His shoulders had slumped once Sherlock had finished and his hands were clenched. He looked like he wanted to slug Sherlock in the side of the face, but he knew he couldn't. 

"You gave my boyfriend a hard time," Mycroft piped up, his voice quiet and forced. "And for that, I demand we have a different doctor. I _will_ be filing a complaint and I'll personally make sure that you don't work in London again. Hope it was worth it."

Dr. Whitman dropped his gaze to the floor and shut his eyes tight. He backed up to the wall and leaned heavily against it. "You're right," he muttered, his voice so much smaller than before. "He left me for a lawyer. They're getting married in three days and I let that affect my work. I must apologize Dr. Watson; and even more so to you Mr. Lestrade. I shouldn't have said what I said. If you allow me, I'd like to be able to care for Mr. Holmes here."

Greg looked at John, who gave a small nod of his head. If John thought it was okay, than he must really trust Dr. Whitman here. Greg sighed and looked at Dr. Whitman, their eyes locking. He could tell that he was telling the truth, that he really did feel bad for what he'd done. 

"Alright," Greg nodded. "But if you even breath something against being gay, I will ask for a different doctor and Mycroft will file a complaint. He has the power that you won't be able to work in London again, so watch your step."

"Of course, thank you," Dr. Whitman said, nodding a small bow. "I shall go see if Mr. Holmes' test results are in. I'll be back in a few minutes."

They watched Dr. Whitman leave the room before Greg turned back to Mycroft, sitting down closer to Mycroft and squeezing his hand. "You're going to be alright," he muttered, talking more to himself than to Mycroft. "It's just going to be some sort of illness going around, that's all. Nothing a few pills can't fix."

"But what if it's not? Like you implied when I was apparently out, what if it's more?" Mycroft asked, his eyes locked on Greg's. He paused a moment to give Greg some time to think about that. "What if it takes more than antibiotics?"

"We'll do what it takes," Greg promised, shaking his head. "Don't worry about it, Mycroft. You'll be fine."

"Mycroft, the doctors here are the best that I know of. Some of the best in the business, even. We'll make sure that Mycroft is taken care of," John said, giving both of them a soft smile. "He's going to get fine care, don't worry."

Before Greg could answer, Dr. Whitman reentered the room with a stack of papers on his clipboard that he was flipping through. He didn't speak right away, reading through the notes and papers before raising his head to look at Mycroft and Greg. 

"Mycroft, if you don't mind, it'd like to take you in for a MRI scan," Dr. Whitman said, moving to get a wheelchair from the corner. 

"Wait, wait, hold on," Greg said, standing up and watching as Dr. Whitman moved around to help Mycroft into the chair. "Why does he need a MRI scan? What does that notes say?"

"Let me give him the MRI scan before we go over any of the notes. What I'm reading has a very high possibility of being wrong without the scan-"

"What do the notes say?" John asked, standing up and standing near where Dr. Whitman was helping Mycroft into the chair.

Dr. Whitman started to wheel Mycroft towards the door and said over his shoulder the single word that Greg was dreading the most. His heart dropped and he had to sit down, feeling like he was going to be sick. The room spun and his face physically paled. 

"Cancer."


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody! Sorry that this took so long xp But I promise, I'm going to be posting chapters to this when inspiration hits me!
> 
> I've decided to make the chapters shorter tho, so I'm more likely to post. I've been doing writing warm ups each day that are only around 500 words a post, which allows me to post more often and actually get a few stories moving along in an okay pace. So I hope you don't mind shorter chapters! If something slaps me across the face, I may write longer chapters every once in a while, but until than, shorter chapters it is! 
> 
> I hope you continue to enjoy :)

"Shit," Sherlock cursed under his breath, running a hand over his face as he took in what that one word meant. Greg sat on the edge of the bed, looking dumbstruck and staring straight at the wall, his eyes darting left and right as though he was trying to read the news out of the air. John ran a hand through his hair before going over and sitting next to Greg, rubbing a hand over his back.

"Greg? Are you with us?" John asked quietly, the doctor in him the only thing keeping him calm in the situation. 

"I can't believe this..." Greg murmured, shaking his head. "He can't have... It's impossible... I mean, it's Mycroft! He can't-"

"I know, Greg," John soothed. "But remember, Doctor Whitman said that it has a high percentage of being wrong on the tests, and we won't know until the MRI scan is complete. Let's not freak out completely yet. Here, have you eaten yet today? I doubt you have, I'll go get us all something to eat from the cafe downstairs. Sherlock, stay with Greg, okay? I'll be back."

John stood from the bed and exited the room quietly, leaving Sherlock and Greg alone. Sherlock sat down next to Greg, his mind racing until he looked at his brother's lover. The man looked honest to God broken. Sherlock wasn't going to lie, he knew how Greg was feeling. It _was_ his brother in there, after all! But he knew he didn't have as deep of a connection to his brother these days, especially not like Greg did. 

"Hey, like John said, Mycroft could be perfectly fine. We just need to wait for the MRI and-"

"What if he's not?" Greg said sadly, turning to look at Sherlock. Sherlock was more than a little shocked to see the tears brimming the DI's eyes. "What if I lose him, Sherlock? I mean, he's all I've got anymore."

"I know," Sherlock murmured in a voice very unlike his own cold, hard tone. "He's the only family I have left as well. Losing him would be... unbearable. Lestrade- er... Greg, you won't be alone. You have John, and myself, if Mycroft does end up-" He paused, Greg watched Sherlock's brain work through what he was saying. He could honestly say he's never seen the man like this. This open. "No matter what happens, Greg, we will be here for you. I know it might not be much, but it's something, and I hope it can help."

"Thank you, Sherlock," Greg said quietly, still slightly in shock. He wrapped one arm around the man's shoulders and gave him a quick hug. "I will be doing all I can do to make sure that Mycroft becomes healthy again. I don't care how much it costs or what I have to do, I will do it. I will do anything to keep him here."

"He's lucky to have you, Greg," Sherlock nodded, a small, grateful smile playing on his lips. He cleared this throat after a few moments, seemingly slipping back into normal Sherlock mode. "But of course, no matter what happens to him, he's still a prick."

Greg couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his throat as Sherlock just sent him a knowing smirk. It was comforting to know that Sherlock was there for him, but he was still going to do everything he could to make sure that Mycroft stayed with him for as long as he could. He loved him, and life without Mycroft would just be boring to all Hell. Who else was going to give him a proper hard time than the British Government himself?


End file.
